


Hold On (Just A Little While Longer)

by CoyoteGhost



Series: Devotion [8]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Depression, He still consents, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Infidelity, Just because Jesse is drunk and a little drugged, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Character Death, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Singing, Survivor Guilt, sorta - Freeform, very mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-03 08:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17280596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoyoteGhost/pseuds/CoyoteGhost
Summary: If Gabriel was willing to sacrifice every ounce of faith that Jesse had in him, if he was willing to go so far as to let Jesse throw his own life away, then Gabriel wasn’t the man he once was. How fucking blind had Jesse been to ever see it otherwise?OrJesse learns in the worst possible way that Gabriel isn’t who he used to be.





	1. Because You Had No Say In It

**Author's Note:**

> Haaaa, here’s the New Years thing nobody every asked for! No yeah, I’ve been working on this for like, a month and a half? Maybe more? It took so long because I’m a dumbass and I started writing other things too. 
> 
> ANYWAYS! Be patient with me, because I’ll probably upload this over the course of a few days, maybe a week at most. It’s slow editing. But yeah! Enjoy!

Jesse learned very quickly that he hated the woman named Moira O’Deorain.

 

He tried not to, honest he did, but it was hard to like the person who kept asking if she could take various samples from his right eye to ‘unravel his clever little party trick’.

 

‘Party trick’, his ass.

 

Jesse also learned that almost everybody else hated Moira, too, and Jack was one of them. He had told Jesse of her various... _ethically questionable_  experiments that Overwatch had been forced to shut down, and at Jesse’s request, Jack gave him the detailed reports that led up to her being terminated and eventually removed from the premises.

 

Then Gabriel intervened.

 

Jesse wasn’t really sure why; Moira did a lot of things that even Jesse himself considered wrong, and considering where he’d grown up and what he’d done since then, that was saying something. Now he’d somehow managed to get trapped in a very long, painful conversation with Gabriel about a decision he had already made. _Without_ Jesse’s input.

 

“She really isn’t that bad, Jesse, she’s just a little weird.”

 

“You don’t say?”

 

Gabriel huffed at his bitter response and continued his tireless pacing. They had been in the conference room for over an hour; the first twenty minutes Gabriel had spent soothing the Strike Team, and the other forty he had spent trying to convince Jesse that he was right. Naturally, Jesse wasn’t having it. Aside from the occasional dry look, he found himself focused on the logistics and individual strategies for a Somali reconnaissance mission. He had no desire to watch Gabriel pace, and more than anything, he just wanted the conversation to be over.

 

“I don’t get why you hate her so much,” Gabriel said. Every time he spoke, he threw his arms up as if exasperated, and it somehow managed to rub Jesse the wrong way. “You’re being a stubborn ass for the hell of it and you know it. She’s literally done nothing to any of us. I mean, really, what’s Moira ever done for you to treat her like this?”

 

For the first time since this entire talk started, Jesse slammed his papers down with enough force to shake the table, and the way he glared up at Gabriel couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than frustration. He’d had enough.

 

“Oh, I don’t know, Gabriel,” he hissed, arms crossed to prevent fidgeting, “Let me just think a little on it. Maybe I can conjure something up for you.”

 

Jesse didn’t need to think on anything at all. He knew every single problem that he had with Moira, and he could stand there for hours writing down exactly what he wanted to _do_ about said problems in morbidly vivid detail.

 

“It might be the fact that she keeps trying to physically _experiment_ on me without my permission, or maybe it’s because she broke into my fucking medical records, or, hell, it might even be that I can’t stand the way she keeps trying to _cut my fucking eye out_ -“

 

“So she has some flaws. That doesn’t change the fact that she’s a good medic,” Gabriel interrupted, and if Jesse didn’t love the man, he would’ve thrown every heavy object in the area at him.

 

“We don’t need her, Gabe. We have Victor, and he’s been with us for years now. He’s beyond competent and you know it.”

 

“Jesse...”

 

Gabriel stopped his pacing class, and at his tone, Jesse silenced himself. If this was going where he thought it was going, he didn’t like it one bit.

 

To Jesse, the Strike Team was absolutely perfect; they had an amazing balance and understanding of one another, bonds made strong from years of fighting side by side. Genji was being considered for a position on the team, but they didn’t really need anyone else. They _certainly_ didn’t need another medic. Jesse might’ve been biased, but Victor was second only to Angela as far as medical care went, and even then he exceeded her out in the field (at the moment, she was more of a researcher and a permanent fixture at Zürich). Nobody could compete with him. No, Victor was perfect, and he didn’t need some morally corrupt scientist trying to take his place.

 

“Whatever you’re about to say, Gabe, just don’t,” Jesse said. “Not tonight. I can’t afford to argue right now with the upcoming mission, and honestly? I’m just not in the mood.”

 

And he really wasn’t. Jesse wasn’t one for mindless violence and anger, not anymore, but just thinking of Victor losing his job was enough to make him lightheaded. Not like that was hard right now anyways; how long had it been since Jesse had slept? _Truly_ slept? He’d been doing research and trying to set up the mission as best he could for over a month, and the amount of rest he actually managed to get was pitiful. If he had to guess, he’d gotten about two or three hours a night, maybe even less on busy days.

 

He was tired, his fuse was short, and if Jesse were to be truthful, he still felt a little betrayed. Who was Moira to try and weasel her way into Blackwatch’s elite, uprooting their bonds and achievements? Who was she to be able to call Gabriel by his first name, to be so friendly with him that it made Jesse’s skin crawl?

 

Gabriel looked like he still wanted to say his piece on the matter, but Jesse stopped him. He raised his hand to halt the conversation, and without any more delay, he started to shuffle his papers back into order from where he’d slammed them down.

 

“We can talk later if you truly think this is actually important, but I’m done with your shit for the night,” Jesse said. “Goodnight, Gabe.”

 

As he stood, he felt his vision shift and his body wobble just a bit to the left. God, he was tired. Jesse knew that Gabriel’s quarters were closer than his own, just a few hallways away instead of an entire floor, but he couldn’t bring himself to go there. Jesse might’ve slept there almost every night, but it was just starting to not feel right as of late. He knew he was probably overthinking everything. Jesse normally did, in Gabriel’s defense, but this felt different somehow.

 

He still spent at least three nights a week in Gabriel’s room (in _their_ room, he corrected himself), but recently Jesse found himself wandering back to his older quarters. Something he hardly ever did. It was always homey to him, though, that small little room. It had plants in the window sill, all of which Jesse had named. His clothes were stuffed somewhat neatly in his drawers, and while his bed was never made, he would always make try to make things tidy and orderly whenever he left the base. His hat (he wore it around the base most days) sat respectfully on the table by his bed, a reminder of who he was and where he came from. A reminder of his own power.

 

Jesse loved his room. Why didn’t he spendmore time in it?

 

Despite it all, Jesse found himself momentarily wishing he had just gone to Gabriel’s room, because as soon as he turned towards the stairwell, he had gotten so distracted by his sluggish thoughts that he ran point blank into the corner of a wall. He held back all of the bitter curses he wanted to scream at himself, if only because he was weary. How does one just run into a wall? Jesse understood that he was tired, but really? Fucking _really_? In his defense, he had probably just accidentally ‘rested’ his eyes, something that he had done before during meetings. It wouldn’t surprise him. As he knelt down to pick up his papers for the second time that night, Jesse couldn’t help but be grateful that nobody had seen him.

 

Well, he felt just a smidge less grateful when he noticed that his stack looked and felt a little light.

 

Jesse sighed to himself as he stood to make the long trip back to the conference room. In his anger and haste, he supposed it was feasible that he had dropped some of the documents on the floor as he left, or that maybe they had fallen under the table when he had thrown his work down. Maybe he was just crazy at this point and he had dropped nothing at all. He was just eyeballing the papers honestly, weighting them in hands that already felt like they were made of lead. Maybe he really just needed a nap.

 

When Jesse opened the conference room door, Gabriel was already gone. Not surprising. Just like Jesse, Gabriel had work he had to do, and they were already behind from the little meeting they’d had. As he got on his hands and knees, Jesse felt acrid bile rise in the back of his throat at the thought of their conversation. He wanted to think about everything _but_ that right now. Still, his brain kept returning to it time and time again. What the hell was Gabriel’s deal, and why did he want Moira to join them so badly? It wasn’t just her joining their medical team, it was her becoming part of the Strike Team. _His_ Strike Team. Sure, it was technically Gabriel’s and he could change the composition of it whenever he wanted, but not without serious discussions and backlash. Gabriel hadn’t come to consult his team when he pulled them into that conference. No, he simply told them that Moira was one of them now. 

 

There had been an uproar as soon as Gabriel let those words come out of his mouth. Reyes must’ve known there would be retaliation, because he stood on the far side of the table while the team sat at the other end; Jesse was at the head, as per usual, and the others sat on the sides. They’d all been in such a good mood (specifically towards Jesse, although his weary brain couldn’t think of a reason why), so much so that Gabriel probably didn’t expect it to escalate into a physical matter.

 

Esme was the first on her feet. Her playful voice turned shrill and sharp, her hands flailing wildly as she talked. Kara was second. She fussed as well, but her main goal was keeping Esme from throwing herself across the table at their commander (Esme had never had the best self-control). Jonathan stood beside Kara, and he listed off the cons of having Moira join them as he pulled Victor from his chair. Victor, for his part, had managed to keep himself under control, but couldn’t stop himself from asking a few questions over the chaos. Hell, even Bora Khan agreed with them. He berated Moira and criticized her character, standing at Victor’s side as if to protect him from being replaced. They were all a thunderous cacophony of fury.

 

But then came Jesse.

 

Unlike the others, he remained in his seat. He didn’t yell, didn’t scream, didn’t even mutter a sound, and it wasn’t because he couldn’t react. He certainly could. He simply chose not to. Instead, when Gabriel looked for him through the chaos, watching for his reaction and thoughts, Jesse felt the fire and rage kindling in his own eyes. The venom was something so potent it made Gabriel’s breath hitch.

 

No, Jesse didn’t need to scream for Gabriel to hear him. Not one bit.

 

“Enough!” Reyes had looked away, turning back to the others. His voice was even louder than his team’s. “This is not up for debate!”

 

But nobody listened to him. They all continued to shout and scream and yell back and forth for ten solid minutes before it almost blossomed into Gabriel vs. the Strike Team. Even Kara (second most peaceful, just below Victor) was ready to let go of Esme, to join her in the fight.

 

But Jesse was tired.

 

He was tired, and he was hurt, and he was _angry_.

 

“Sit. _Down_.”

 

When Jesse spoke, his voice was sinister, a vicious roaring lion against the others’ maelstrom. It left no room for refusal. The room had become painfully silent, so much so that even the labored breathing of the others seemed to be suffocated under Jesse’s command. It took a whole of five seconds for everyone but Gabriel to sit themselves back into their chairs. Gabriel had given him some unnameable look after that, or maybe Jesse knew what it was but couldn’t bring himself to care enough to label it. How any of them looked was the least important thing; how the team actually _felt_ was whole ‘nother beast. Jesse knew his friends. He knew they were feeling horribly betrayed, like their trust had been irreversibly broken (which it had). He knew that they wouldn’t forget Gabriel’s sin.

 

Jesse clenched his fists around carpet flooring for a moment, but stood up and took his papers back into his hands. He couldn’t dwell on that anymore. His bed was calling to him like a fucking siren, and Jesse was ready to dive into the depths of sleep.

 

Nobody had appeared in the hall since Jesse had left. There was nobody to bug him, to ask him any questions (with how he looked, only a fool would try to approach him). Even if they had, he wouldn’t have let anyone or anything keep him from his sleep. Not even that stupid corner. Jesse glared harshly at the wall that had offended him, but outside of that, Jesse had made it to his room without any problems or interruptions, and as soon as he closed the door behind him, he made a beeline to his bed. Not a second later, he jerked to a violent stop. Weary or not, something felt... off.

 

Even with his light off, the moonlight filtering through his blinds illuminated the room enough to where Jesse could look around. At first glance, his room was fine. When he looked around more, however, Jesse could tell some things had been touched since his last visit.

 

The covers on his bed had been moved, as were the clothes that had been placed on them. His hat had also moved and was now brushing against his lamp, and the cowboy boots that sat against the bedside table’s bottom drawers had been shifted oddly. It was so minuscule, but Jesse noticed (it was his job, after all). It looked as if someone had been trying to move things back into their original position. Something in Jesse’s possession might’ve been taken.

 

...or he was being paranoid.

 

Jesse laughed at himself as he studied the surface of his bed. On top of the ruffled covers were the papers that he had suspected he’d accidentally left behind in the conference room. It was Gabriel who had returned them for him, and Jesse confirmed that when he moved his boots over and dug around in the bottom drawer. His comm’s charger was gone. It was probably actually Jack’s charger, not his, but it didn’t really matter since they both shared each other’s things. Not that Gabriel minded; it just meant that he had another backup charger to steal.

 

Jesse almost felt bad about having fought so bitterly with Gabriel; this man (his _partner_ ), despite knowing he had upset Jesse to the point where they would probably be sleeping separately tonight, had gone out of his way to drop off Jesse’s forgotten papers. It didn’t change that what Gabriel did was wrong, but it made Jesse more inclined to apologize for his behavior.

 

Although he knew he should work, Jesse threw all of his documents onto his dresser and flung himself face first into his sheets. Oh yes, this was fucking _glorious_. Jesse felt he might weep from how soft and comforting his bed felt; even the hard-ass mattress he always complained about felt like a fluffy little cloud. It was impossible not to fall asleep. Not that Jesse was trying to stay awake, anyways.

 

Still, fate seemed to have other plans, and he nearly screamed out profanities of all sorts as he heard somebody knocking on his door. He had only been asleep for a whole of an hour. Jesse had half a mind to just roll back over and ignore the knocking, but he decided against it; what if it was Gabriel?The thought made Jesse feel irritable and cross for whatever reason. Gabriel returning his papers didn’t mean forgiveness. He would probably want to continue their little chat, despite the warnings that had been dealt out and the demands to wait until the morning (or, more preferably, never). To hell with Gabriel, and to hell with fucking Moira. It was with weary steps and a horribly grouchy snarl that Jesse forced himself from his bed. He opened the door so hard that the hinges creaked.

 

“What the hell do you _want_ , Rey- oh, uh... hi?”

 

It wasn’t Gabriel that Jesse was met with, but Victor, who laughed at his friend’s violent greeting like it was expected. He leaned against the doorway as Jesse flipped the lights on and invited him inside. He only shook his head.

 

“What are you doing in bed, Jesse?” Victor asked, “I thought you’d be celebrating!”

 

Celebrating? What the actual hell was he supposed to celebrate? Whatever positive thing was going on, it had become dwarfed and wholly forgotten in the chaos of the earlier meeting, and Victor laughed once again when Jesse looked at him like he had grown a second head. For whatever reason, Victor sounded... sad?

 

“Just follow me, yeah? You’ll probably remember here in a little bit.”

 

Jesse did follow him, but he still remained confused. When he thought back on it, Jesse remembered that the others had been more playful and teasing than normal, winking at him and offering to buy round upon round of drinks. Not that he was opposed to that (Jesse still enjoyed his liquor a little more than he should), but he was still a bit lost. Even as Victor walked him down the stairs and through the lounge room’s entrance, Jesse couldn’t possibly fathom what they were doing. Had he actually forgotten a holiday or an anniversary? It couldn’t be someone’s birthday, could it?

 

Wait.

 

 _Wait_.

 

“Happy birthday, Jesse!”

 

In front of Jesse were all of the many, many friends he had made over the years, all of them wearing silly party hats and throwing a mix of glitter and confetti at him. People smiled at him, they moved to hug him and pat him on the back, and they started talking a million miles a minute to congratulate him. To _celebrate_ him.

 

Without warning, Jesse started to cry.

 

It wasn’t sad or angry or anything of the like; in fact, it was quite the contrary. He was happy, so much so that tears cascaded down his face as he laughed himself breathless, slinging one arm around Victor’s shoulder and the other on the little Blackwatch cadet that had slipped a hat onto Jesse’s head.The room, much like the party hats, was so gaudy and flashy that it might hurt one’s eyes if stared at too long. Thankfully the lights were dimmed until they were almost completely off; it had obviously been done in order to show off the bright Christmas lights they had been strung up with the party banners. Other little lights had popped up here and there (mainly around the drinks and food table), but not much else was lighting the way. Despite the darkness and the energetic thrumming of music reverberating in his chest, Jesse didn’t mind the chaos at all. This was beyond perfect.

 

“I take it you like it?”

 

It was Jack. Soft, kind, playful Jack, who had traded his flowing robes and beautiful armor for a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. Much to Jesse’s surprise, he didn’t look out of place at all; he had thought that Jack would look incongruous and awkward in a normal crowd, especially one that was mainly composed of Blackwatch, but that wasn’t the case. He appeared comfortable with them, and everyone was comfortable with him in kind.

 

“You... remembered me?” Jesse said, and removed himself from the others in order to hug Jack tightly. They stayed like that for a moment before reluctantly parting, Jack still keeping an arm around Jesse’s shoulder as he guided him through the maze of people. He made some sort of vague motion towards Victor, but Jesse couldn’t tell what for.

 

When Jesse looked closer, he could see people other than Blackwatch agents were present; Angela and nurse Hudson were there, as were the vast majority of the medical staff. Some Overwatch cadets and soldiers that Jesse had helped and/or made friends with along the way were there, too. Ana was gone on a mission, but Fareeha was present in her stead.

 

Jesse snorted as he watched her from a distance. She was playing some old game with Esme, and Fareeha was quite literally dancing circles around her. Jonathan was singing along to whatever song was playing, and was winning points for doing so despite not moving an inch. Jesse could see them laughing so hard they were stumbling and coughing, along with the large group that was cheering them on, and he couldn’t help but smile. Everything was perfect. Blackwatch was full of his friends, his _family_ , and it was so nice to see Fareeha mixed in with them.

 

It was hard to believe that Fareeha was seventeen now, just seven years younger than Jesse himself, and it honestly made him feel older than he really was. He’d been her big brother since she was just eleven, and now she was growing up to be just as strong and brilliant as her mother.

 

Jack laughed as he walked both Jesse and himself closer to the group. They all gave a loud whoop as the song ended and the next one began, but when they saw Jesse, they beckoned him to dance.

 

“Come on, Jesse!” one of them cried, and the others joined in. “We all know you can dance!”

 

“It’s kinda hard not to when he’s out shaking his ass on a mission,” Jonathan added. “It’s admittedly a nice ass, though.”

 

He grinned mischievously as he patted the spot on the couch next to him, moving the plate of food that had been there into his lap. Jesse flopped right on down without hesitation. He heard Jack tell him he’d be right back as he walked off in the same direction that Victor had gone, disappearing into the crowd of happy, playful drunks and youth.

 

Jesse noticed that the entire lounge had been rearranged for his party; the couches were pushed roughly ten feet apart to make room for the dancing game, while the table that had been between the space had been moved way off to be used as a food table. People were eating all sorts of unhealthy snacks there, and every single one of them looked absolutely delicious. Jonathan offered him the plate he’d been holding with a laugh. It wasn’t until Jesse started stuffing his face with chips that he realized just how hungry he truly was. He’d just never noticed it under all of the stress; it wasn’t unusual for Jesse to starve (done more accidentally than purposefully these past few years) when he was overwhelmed, and he supposed he never really broke the habit. Jonathan knew that, too, and tried to goad him into stealing off of Esme’s plate instead of voicing his concerns over Jesse’s starvation. It was better that way.

 

“Come dance, Jesse!” It was Fareeha, hair sticking to her forehead with sweat. She jokingly pouted when Jesse shook his head.

 

“I’m afraid I don’t dance, sweetheart,” he told her. “I’m about as graceful as a newborn foal on ice.”

 

“But you can sing! Make him sing, Jonathan!” Esme had spoken this time, and she grinned at him as she returned to dancing (or whatever alcohol-motivated moves those were) with a vengeance.

 

Jesse awkwardly chuckled as everyone demanded that he sing. He hated singing in public, hated doing that with anyone else in the room, no matter who it was (he’d even refused Gabriel whenever he had asked). The only reason Esme knew was because she’d caught him off guard once while he was cleaning. When Jesse had heard her gasp at hearing him, Jesse had practically tackled her and demanded that she never tell anyone about the instance. _Ever_. In her defense, Esme didn’t lie; she said she would never purposely tell anyone with the exception of Jonathan, but couldn’t promise anything when under alcohol’s sweet influence. Jesse later commended her honesty, but it still made him nervous. He just didn’t like others hearing him sing.

 

“Leave the man alone, we’ve got more important things to do!” Victor said as he made his way back to the group. Jack was following right behind him, and the object he carried in his arms made Jesse laugh so delightfully that it made him want to cry again.

 

It was a birthday cake made just for him, full of brightly lit candles and decorated with beautiful frosting. He felt his entire face turn red as Jack carefully placed the little thing in his lap. The cake was probably six inches on every side, just large enough for Jesse to eat all by himself if he really wanted to, and he couldn’t help but stare at the center of it; his name was written in perfect calligraphy right above the number twenty-four. It might’ve been a little underwhelming for many, but as the crowd started to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ in loud, giggly, heavily drunk voices, Jesse felt as if it were the best thing he’d ever been given in the entire world (and it probably really was).

 

“Make a wish, Jess,” Victor told him, “And make it a good one!”

 

When Jesse blew out his candles and heard the joyful laughing and cheering filling the room, he couldn’t help but grin so hard that his cheeks hurt.

 

He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’d made the perfect wish.

 

 

——

 

 

Eventually the party had ended, and everyone but the Strike Team had left the lounge room. Esme had demanded that they all sleep there after she’d learned that Jesse had never had a ‘sleepover’ before (not like he ever could’ve, but he didn’t say that). They all complied, even Bora Khan. The team had left only to run back to their rooms to change and grab all of the pillows and blankets they could carry. They laid their things out on the floor for everyone to choose from once they returned.

 

Once items had been chosen, everyone spread out around the room, and each person made their own nest to their liking. Of course, being that it was his birthday, Jesse was allowed to fill his little nest with most of the pillows (which, thankfully, came with only minimal teasing). They had offered to let him take one of the couches, but he refused; instead, he allowed Victor and Kara to sleep on them. Victor had bickered with him about it, though, so they ended up having to compromise. Until Jesse fell asleep, he would rest on the couch with Victor to save his body from aching too much in the morning.

 

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re hot as hell?” Victor asked. He rolled his eyes as Jesse waggled his brows, “And no, not in _that_ way.”

 

Whereas Jesse was hot-blooded, his friend was quite the opposite; the medic’s skin seemed to be perpetually cold (much like Angela, actually), and he often sought out those who were warmer so he could leech off their heat. Jesse didn’t mind it, though. He simply snuggled closer under their shared blanket, so content with the familial intimacy that he’d forgotten all about the rest of the day’s tribulations.

 

Jesse loved Gabriel with all of his heart, with every fibre of his being, but he adored Victor so much that it hurt. Those were different kinds of love, though. Gabriel was his lover, his _partner_ , someone Jesse hoped he got to spend a lifetime with, even if they fought and bickered sometimes. Victor, on the other hand, was the brother Jesse had never known he’d needed. If Jesse were trapped in a burning building, Victor would run straight in without any hesitation at all. Jesse knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would do just the same.

 

“And this right here is the bromance of the century. Take a pictures, you guys, it’s good learning material!”

 

With tablet in hand, Jonathan sluggishly walked to where the two of them were cuddled up on the couch, then turned his back on them, ensuring he would still be in the picture while making sure Jesse and Victor were visible. Jesse grinned as he saw what was on the tablet screen; it was Jonathan’s family. His husband, Theodore, was waving through the screen, as were two little girls and a sweet baby boy. The girls seemed delighted when they saw them.

 

“Well, howdy there, little ladies! And good afternoon, Theo,” Jesse said. They all waved and spoke for a moment before Jonathan went off to a corner of the room, talking quietly to his family for as long as he could before sleepiness overtook him.

 

Jesse had always been envious (maybe even a little resentful in the beginning) at how Jonathan had such a loving family. He had a home to return to, a quaint little dream in County Clare with white picket fences, full of life and love and happiness. It was always something that Jesse had desperately wanted - no, _needed_. He’d _needed_ it so badly that he had willingly killed others over the slight chance that it might be given to him. Deadlock had delivered that dream in a cruel way; they had been his family in a twisted perversion of the word, but it was nothing like Jonathan’s.

 

But Gabriel... Gabriel was what Jesse had right now, and that was the closest thing he would ever get to that domestic life that he craved so earnestly. In the back of his mind, Jesse knew that Gabriel would never retire from the military life, he knew that his fantasies would never really come true, but if Jesse had to sacrifice that in order to follow his partner, then that’s what he would do.

 

“You look tired.” Victor broke Jesse away from his thoughts, which certainly wasn’t unwelcome. Everyone else was asleep, it seemed. “You sure you don’t want the couch?”

 

“No, you keep it. I’m the youngest out of you old folks, so I’ll bounce back faster from a sore back,” Jesse joked.

 

Victor shook his head as Jesse stood from his spot, smiling as they hugged one last time. Of course his team wasn’t _that_ old. Jesse just happened to be the baby of the group, just now turning twenty four, while everyone else exceeded him. Victor had been five years older than Jesse when he had first joined (it was the same year that Gabriel had brought McCree home from the Blackwatch mission). Needless to say, they became fast friends. It was a friendship that had lasted for all the years that they had known each other. Both Victor and Jesse needed the companionship, and it was further solidified with every hardship that they faced.

 

Now was not the time for hardships, though. Jesse was exhausted. After a few more quips back and forth, he finally set out to sleep in his own nest, where he would be content to sleep away the rest of the night. Out of habit, Jesse had made his bed closest to the door, the farthest outlier from everyone else. Not that he minded, really. He’d always done it back in the day so he could be the first one out if anything happened, and although that same philosophy held true, Jesse now also did it to be the first line of defense in his group. They had more to lose than he did, sad as it was, but again, it was something that Jesse didn’t mind. 

 

At any rate, as Jesse settled down into his pile of blankets and pillows, placing his comm by his head, he knew he wouldn’t have to worry about anything going wrong. It was enough to comfort him as he finally rested his head and closed his eyes. 

 

Yeah, everything would be alright.


	2. Don’t Dream Of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who’s ready to suffer? Also, I’m not sure about anybody else, but I really like writing Jesse as a family man! Like, I feel like he would immensely enjoy it
> 
> ALSO!
> 
> There’s a sing-song in here, which incidentally is also where the title of the fic comes from: 
> 
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ySPJ5pBtjw4
> 
> It’s from Detroit: Become Human, because you know ya boi likes that game more than life itself (and also Connor is my baby)

It felt like Jesse had only been asleep for a whole of five minutes before his comm started to shake against the floor, signifying that some stupid bastard had sent him a notification. He had half a mind to just let it buzz away until it died. Still, duty called, and as Jesse forced himself up and grabbed his comm, he couldn’t help but glare at the message on the screen.

 

 _ **From: G.**_ _**Reyes**_

 

_**If you would, please come to interrogation room 258. I need your help with something.** _

 

_**Sent 00:24** _

 

Jesse huffed and quietly pushed himself up, careful not to wake the others. He could still see Victor sleeping on one of the couches, Kara on the other and Esme right below her (which, considering that the two had become rather close as of late, wasn’t that surprising). Jonathan was off in the left corner, and Bora was on the right. It filled Jesse with an odd sense of warmth.

 

They... were his family.

 

Oddly enough, he really didn’t want to leave them tonight. There wasn’t any danger that could befall them, and they were _completely_ capable of taking care of themselves, but Jesse felt protective of them. It was a feeling that didn’t just come from him being second in command, though; it came because he loved them. He truly, genuinely loved them. They were his, he was their’s, and nothing would ever change that. Pleased with the knowledge that they would be safe, Jesse made his way out of the doors. As per usual, the base’s hallways were always lit. The fluorescent bulbs had always hurt his eyes a bit, but it was _way_ better than the halogen ones; those things could outshine the fucking sun. Jesse realized he probably wouldn’t have minded them as he slowly went deeper into the darkness of the lower levels. They were always inherently poorly-lit. It just seemed a little darker than usual, though.

 

“Hey, Athena,” Jesse called, “Is everything okay with the power?”

 

He stopped to look up to the ceiling like he normally did (everyone always poked fun at him for it, saying that Athena had no body or vessel, but Jesse did it regardless), and he waited for a response.

 

Nothing came.

 

Jesse shrugged and continued walking. If Athena didn’t answer him, then it would make sense that their power might be shorting out or something. Sometimes the wind in Zürich would do that. Regardless, it was none of his concern, and he made his way towards the room that he’d been summoned to.

 

Room 258 was a place Jesse was familiar with for one reason alone, and he hated it. Back when Deadlock had decided to rise out of the ashes with the help of Talon, both he and Jack had decided that they would try to capture a Talon agent and interrogate them for information. They’d gotten a Deadlock boy instead. It was somebody that Jesse had known personally, and although he despised that man, it left him feeling some dilapidated form of betrayal for allowing Gabriel’s questioning (torture) to continue.Not that any of that matter now. Jesse had destroyed most of Deadlock, had killed old King and took the crown for himself. He wore the dead man’s Stetson with pride, so Jesse supposed he had no room to feel bad for the life that Gabriel had taken in the interrogation room. It was still a shock to his system whenever he went in there, though.

 

“About time.”

 

Jesse huffed at Gabriel’s comment as he pushed open the door, slamming it shut behind him with more force than was strictly necessary. It was just the two of them; there was nobody even in the main holding chamber. That was... odd.

 

“What do you want?” Jesse asked. He walked over and leaned against the glass like he always did, facing away from the chamber and looking back towards Gabriel.

 

The other man said nothing for a few moments. Instead, he slowly made his way in front of Jesse, and smiled so softly that it made Jesse’s knees go weak, like he might actually melt to the floor if he didn’t hold himself up. He closed his eyes as he felt Gabriel’s calloused fingers gently trace his features. The bones of his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, the very edges of his eyelashes; all of them were warmed by Gabriel’s touch. The hand was replaced with soft, chapped lips that seemed to worship his skin, kissing over every spot that they could find. Jesse was truly content to stay that way the entire night. Whatever disagreements and arguments that they’d made against one another seemed to dissipate, and he was fine with letting all of that go.

 

“Happy birthday, Jess,” Gabriel said, and placed another kiss on Jesse’s lips between his words. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

 

Jesse laughed and finally opened his eyes, letting Gabriel brush a hand through his hair before stepping back. He nodded for towards the chamber, and Jesse obediently turned around.

 

“You’re crazy, Gabe. I didn’t see any-“

 

Jesse didn’t even try to stop the scream that tore itself from his throat.

 

Grotesque bodies hung from the ceiling, some of them slowly swinging back and forth. Every single inch of them was bloated and discolored, and their entrails had been ripped straight out of their stomachs, as if someone had plunged a hand inside of them and just pulled everything out. Whatever had been left inside was oozing out of the empty cavity, and every slick sound of something falling to the floor echoed wetly in the silence. And their faces - oh God, their faces. Jesse recognized them.

 

The Strike Team.

 

It was the entire Strike Team, hung from their throats and mutilated so brutally that they were almost made inhuman.

 

Jesse felt his stomach lurch as he fell to the ground, and he didn’t even bother to brace himself as he landed straight onto his back, bile and vomit building up in his throat. He turned to empty his stomach, only to realize he couldn’t; his mouth felt horribly dry as he breathed in heavy ash and smoke, and his nails dug into red earth so tightly that they bled as he coughed and coughed and coughed, trying to keep from suffocating.When he looked up, all Jesse could see was fire. He knew where he was, though; the screams and cries and smells of burning flesh assaulting his senses were too familiar, too fresh in his mind.

 

Jesse felt as Deadlock Gorge’s sun finally broke through the smoke as he curled up onto his side. His hands were clasped painfully tight against his face; he was almost certain he was bleeding, that rubble from an explosion had torn his head back open and crushed his ribs. He could even taste the sickening rush of copper plastering his tongue to the roof of his mouth. The bleeding only amplified as he felt someone rip his hands from his face, their angry fists trying to crack Jesse’s skull as he was thrashed into the earth. 

 

Out of instinct, Jesse opened his eyes and reached up desperately to defend himself; he felt his nails scrape the back of the other man’s eye sockets, and as Jesse flung the body off of him, he took in the sight of moldy stalks of corn. He could hear others running around and firing their guns, could hear them running towards him, and without any other options left, Jesse stood from his spot and bolted through the maze of corn. He only stopped when the earth started to crack and explode, and not a second later, the ground opened up and swallowed him whole. 

 

Jesse cried out as he opened his eyes. The world around him, eerily silent, seemed endlessly dark, save for a faint light (moonlight, he believed) streaming in from above him. When he looked down, Jesse realized he was laying in his old bedroll, tucked against the wall and already settled down, as if having been asleep. That couldn’t be right. Quietly, as if afraid to move, Jesse pushed himself to sit up.He was under floorboards, Peacekeeper in his hand, and his body ached so terribly with starvation and disease that he doubled over. He could hear heavy footsteps above him, and felt blood trickle down from the cracks in the floor. Jesse could make out what the person above him was saying, but just barely.

 

“There seems to be a cellar, sir.”

 

The door to the cellar opened, and a man dropped down into the darkness.Jesse remembered this. 

 

“Wait! Don’t-“

 

And he remembered that, too.

 

Jesse lowered a now-smoking Peacekeeper and trembled as he pressed himself back against the wall, eyes wide as he took in the scene around him. He knew this place. He knew this hunger gnawing away at his gut, knew the sickness that burned inside of his bones. He knew whose blood was tricking onto his skin. He even knew the familiar electrical hum of the dead soldier’s comm off in the distance.

 

But none of it was real.

 

Everything would be okay, he just had to be patient. Jesse sat there for a moment and waited for the world to change again, waited for something to catch on fire or for a demon to emerge from the darkness to tear him open, but nothing happened. He sat there even longer, but no sounds came. Nothing was on fire, no demons were crawling towards him. It was just him in the pitch-black cellar, wrapped in a red serape and covered in a dead man’s blood.

 

The more time that passed, the more Jesse felt his heart start to beat painfully in his chest, and his anxiety and dread started to consume him more than any demon ever could. Had he dreamed up being rescued by Gabriel? It seemed so surreal and painful that Jesse felt his heart might actually implode. Had he actually been asleep this _entire time_? Had he just been stuck down in this cellar, delusional with his sickness and hunger, dreaming up a world where he was safe and loved and happy? Fuck, it actually made _sense_. Jesse knew from experience that his eighteen year old brain would do something like that, would create some cruel and beautiful world for him to escape in. It had done it before when he was at the mercy of some of his old ‘friends’. Why wouldn’t it do that now?

 

Jesse felt his entire being crumble as he started to openly weep. His ailing body shook, and the cries that came from his throat were so raw and agonizing that it sounded more like a wounded animal than a human being. How cruel did life have to be? If his future - his entire _life_ \- had been just a dream, then he didn’t want to wake up. He _refused_ to. He couldn’t go through all of it again, couldn’t go back home to the Gorge knowing he would have to wake up every single day surrounded by people who wished for his death, who made him _want_ to die.

 

He couldn’t take it anymore. He _couldn’t_.

 

With a trembling hand, Jesse slowly raised Peacekeeper to his head, starting to cry louder as he felt the cold steel of the barrel press against his temple. He closed his eyes and muttered a useless prayer, and just as he took in a deep, shuttering breath, he carefully squeezed the trigger.

 

 

 

Nothing came.

 

 

 

Jesse felt himself jerk upwards with such violent force that it gave him vertigo. His entire body shook so hard that he felt his teeth chattering, and every inch of his flesh was covered in sweat. His hyperventilation didn’t seem to help the clamminess. If anything, it made him feel even more sweaty and nauseous. Jesse truly thought he might vomit, and kept his eyes clenched painfully shut as he tried to stabilize himself and not pass out (the last thing he wanted at the moment was to be unconscious again).

 

“Are you awake now?”

 

Too far gone to care about shame, Jesse almost jumped right out of his own skin, his eyes flying open as he scooted himself backwards from the voice in fear. He felt himself getting lightheaded, but whether it was from being startled or from his breathing, Jesse didn’t know. All he knew was that he needed to breathe; he was too worked up. Jesse tried (and failed) to calm himself down, looking to the person who had spoken in order to try and focus on just something, _anything_ other than the nightmare still reeling in his mind. It wasn’t Gabriel or Jack or even Victor standing in front of him, nor was it anyone else that Jesse had expected. 

 

It was Bora Khan.

 

The man kept his distance, stared at him guardedly, but didn’t seem to hold any aggression or disgust like he normally did whenever he looked at Jesse. Jesse felt himself sigh in relief; he sure as hell hated Bora, and Bora hated him, but he had never been so thankful to see that man’s face in his entire life. It was a mutual hatred, yet a few seconds later Jesse saw a hand being held out to him. He must’ve looked truly godawful, then.

 

“You need a drink,” was all Bora said, and Jesse didn’t even hesitate when he allowed the man to pull him up from his nest of blankets.

 

The two of them quietly made their way out of the lounge. Jesse was thankful for their slow pace, and was even more thankful when he finally got to sit down at a table; he felt like his legs would give out, and his stomach still threatened to spill its contents onto the floor if he moved too much. Bora realized this, and put a can of ginger ale down beside Jesse’s bottle of alcohol.They both sat at the table in silence (it seemed that they would probably be ignoring each other, if Jesse had to guess), but that was fine with Jesse. He was still reeling. His hand shook so hard that he had to be careful as he brought the can to his lips, and while he knew alcohol wouldn’t help his trembling or nausea, he didn’t really care; as soon as he finished his one drink, he picked up his bottle and took a good, long swig.

 

“Why don’t you sing anymore?”

 

Jesse slowly looked over to Bora. That was an odd question. The man didn’t seem to care if it was odd or not, though, because he looked down coolly at his own bottle of alcohol, carefully swirling its contents around to slosh it against the sides of the glass. He didn’t look at Jesse, but Jesse could see that Bora’s features had somewhat softened. His face wasn’t as stern and critical as it normally was. Even his eyes seemed to hold a different light, perhaps something akin to pity. No... no, it wasn’t pity.

 

It was _compassion_.

 

It was faint, purposefully covered up and meant to be hidden away, but it was there nonetheless. His question made sense now; he was trying to distract Jesse from whatever he had just endured. It was thoughtful, considerate. This was something that neither of them had ever shared before.

 

“I... don’t really know,” Jesse answered. “They never let me sing. Didn’t like it, I guess. One day I just stopped, and I never started it again.”

 

Jesse knew Bora was smart enough to understand it wasn’t Blackwatch he was talking about. No, Blackwatch had always been accepting of most things, singing included, but Jesse was still afraid, still wary that someone would catch him singing and punish him for it. He knew it wouldn’t happen, but fear was one hell of an irrational thing.

 

Bora, for the first time since sitting down, looked at Jesse; he gave an appraising, though not unkind, glance before rising back up again and coming back with a glass of water. He slid it Jesse’s way before quietly continuing his own drink. Jesse appreciated the action. He felt incredibly thirsty, and from the way he had sweated so profusely in his sleep (which Bora had no doubt noticed), it wasn’t very surprising at all. The two of them sat in peaceful silence as a clock ticked off the time in the background. This was... soothing. It was almost hilarious and simultaneously terrible that this was the first time in probably two months that Jesse had felt any sort of repose. Bora was normally his enemy, the person that he would beat the shit out of in training and vice versa. To have this calm, almost intimate moment was such a sharp contrast to their typical interactions that it was almost comical.

 

To have this man comfort him now, to have him reach out at a time of vulnerability instead of using it to his advantage... Jesse didn’t understand that. The only thing he knew was how deeply that kindness and compassion affected him. He could feel its gentle weight like a soft blanket draped over his shoulders, a feeling so profound that it was a physical ache in his chest. It made him feel... complete, in some odd way. Jesse reasoned with himself that it was this feeling that led him to lift his voice, although he still softened it with his own hesitation.

 

“ _Hold on just a little while longer,_

 

_Hold on just a little while longer,_

 

_Hold on just a little while longer,_

 

_Everything will be alright,_

 

_Everything will be alright.”_

 

Jesse could feel Bora looking at him, but he felt no judgment in the stare. Still, he didn’t meet the man’s gaze. He wasn’t ashamed of his voice, not necessarily; he just felt a little rusty and rough-sounding (which was understandable, considering what just happened). Instead of focusing on that, though, Jesse just took a swig of his drink and leaned back against his chair.

 

“ _Fight on just a little while longer,_

 

_Fight on just a little while longer,_

 

_Pray on just a little while longer,_

 

_Everything will be alright,_

 

_Everything will be alright.”_

 

There was one more verse after that, but Jesse couldn’t remember it, so he let the silence wash over them once again. In all honesty, he felt odd knowing that he had sung for Bora of all people, but not Gabriel, Victor, or Jack. Still... it felt good to do it again. It was like a weight being lifted from his chest.After a moment of quiet repose, Bora stood from his spot and stretched. Jesse felt a hand land on his shoulder. He made no efforts to shrug it off, nor did he recoil or curse at the man, despite their normally nasty relationship; they would both put that behind them, at least for one night.

 

“Keep singing, McCree. If only for yourself.”

 

Bora looked like he wanted to say more, but Jesse saw his lips falter, and the words died in the man’s throat. Neither of them were good with things like this, if they were to be honest. Still, when Bora looked into Jesse’s eyes, no words needed to be said; Jesse _understood_. Even if he didn’t know the exact meaning or the right way to put it, he knew what Bora was trying to convey. He knew that whatever had happened tonight would stay with them forever. Without another word, Bora retracted his hand and walked back towards the lounge room, disappearing into its darkness. 

 

Jesse stayed in his chair for longer than he had intended, but he didn’t really care. The ticking of the clock was peaceful. It made him feel better as he slowly came back from his previous terror, but Jesse could still feel it lingering like a horrid disease. Every time he shut his eyes, those sick, twisted, perverted images of his memories flashed like a broken film, haunting him and keeping him from being truly grounded. Another round of alcohol wasn’t the best solution, but Jesse was never one for self-preservation (a blatant lie, but that was his excuse for the night); again and again, one bottle after another, his mind started to bury itself in the fog, and he slowly started to lose focus on anything other than the shitty taste of liquor.

 

Good.

 

Jesse was rather content to drink himself into oblivion, and was so far gone by the time Jack had wandered in that the man was hardly noticed. Jesse only realized Jack was there when he carefully pried the drink from Jesse’s fingers.

 

“It’s two in the morning, Jesse,” he said, and the concern in his voice was palpable. “What on earth are you doing?”

 

Jesse simply shrugged as he reached back over for his bottle. He wanted to say he was surprised when Jack slapped his hand away, but then he would be a drunk _and_ a liar. He heard Jack mutter something along the lines of ‘what am I going to do with you?’ before Jesse felt himself getting hoisted into the air; after a moment, Jesse was settled down in Jack’s arms like a young little bride, with Jack not even bothering to look down at him as he continued to mumble to himself. Jesse made some sort of indignant noise as they started to move down the hallway.

 

It took Jesse a good five minutes to realize that they weren’t going to his own quarters. Not that he minded. He really couldn’t bring himself to care all that much about the destination as he let himself go completely and utterly limp in Jack’s arms, his head lolling to the side as he stared quietly at the floor. Jesse was exhausted (there was no doubt Jack could see it). Even still, he refused to close his eyes.

 

“I heard you singing, you know.”

 

When Jack spoke, his voice was careful, but it held such tenderness that it brought Jesse to attention. “It was... you sing very beautifully. I only left because I realized I was intruding on something personal, and I came back to make sure you and Khan didn’t suddenly decide to kill each other.”

 

Jesse thought he would’ve felt more embarrassed at having been caught singing, but he only felt mild indifference at best. This was Jack, of all people. Why would he care? Jesse actually found himself caring more about what _Gabriel_ would think if he found out that Bora Khan had heard him sing first.

 

“Don’t tell him,” Jesse said (or slurred, more accurately). He couldn’t help the note of desperation in his voice as he added, “Please. Please don’t tell him.”

 

Thank God that Jack could manage to keep up with Jesse’s drunken, sporadic nonsense. Jack knew (of course) that Gabriel was the subject of the conversation, even if it hadn’t been implicitly stated, and simply huffed at Jesse’s begging. They had suddenly stopped, and Jesse felt his stomach lurch at the movement.

 

“I won’t say anything if you don’t. You have my word.” Without wasting another moment, Jack pushed through an unlocked door, mindful not to hit Jesse’s head on the doorway.

 

The room looked familiar, even to Jesse’s hazy mind. Even smelled familiar. Where was he? It only hit him when he felt himself being carefully placed in a rather tough chair, forced and kept upright by Jack’s hand. Jesse chose to look down at the carpet beneath his bare feet.

 

“I believe this belongs to you.”

 

Whenever he looked back up, Jesse found himself startled as a dark figure stood in front of him, and some sort of choked cry escaped his lips. He even felt himself recoil when another hand - not Jack’s - placed itself on his shoulder. Jesse thought compulsively and completely unwillingly of the cellar soldier in his dreams, the body left bleeding in the darkness, and then of the man that had tried to crush his skull. He felt his heart beating so rapidly in his chest that he was certain it would explode. Jesse knew for damn sure that if his body hadn’t locked up, he would’ve bolted for the nearest exit, or just- just anywhere other than _here_. His dreams had been _real_ , those men had come back for him. 

 

He was going to die all over again.

 

Jesse was too far gone in his drunkenness and nightmares to understand the voices that had started to address him, and he flinched so violently when a warm hand touched his face that he was sure he’d almost tipped over the chair. He felt ill and shaky and clammy, just like before. To make matters even worse, he felt himself start to cry. Jesse, much to his dismay, had always been a horrible drunk. He was too prone to mood swings for his liking. That problem seemed to hold true as he openly weeped and sobbed like a child, forcibly curling up in the chair and clutching his hair with enough force to no doubt loosen some of the strands. He only cried harder when he felt firm hands trying to unfurl his fingers.

 

“Please, I don’t wanna die,” he begged, and he looked up at the man above him for the first time. “I don’t wanna die! Don’t kill me. Please, don’t kill _them_ , they don’t- I don’t wanna-“

 

He felt his words die in his throat when he saw familiar eyes, staring down at him with such pain that it only made Jesse cry worse. It was Gabriel, he realized. He’d made himself a fool in front of Gabriel. Jesse felt so conflictingly desperate and mortified all at once, and it only worsened when the man knelt down, holding his hands in front of him as a show of peace.

 

“I’m not... Jesse, I’m not going to kill you,” Gabriel murmured, softly, as if to not disturb him anymore. “I’m not going to hurt you, and I’m not going to hurt anyone else. Nobody is going to hurt you.”

 

Jesse continued to sob and plead and _beg_ until his throat burned, and his voice turned painfully hoarse and scratchy. He even started to wretch a few times from getting so worked up. Some parts of him were still dreaming. Maybe it wasn’t exactly dreaming; everything felt too fucking real, but at the same time it was so unreal that it made Jesse want to scream. Adding confusion into the chaos was very far from optimal. Gabriel and Jack realized that. They knew Jesse’s pattern: stimuli becoming overwhelming led to fear, which then led to aggression, and aggression led to somebody getting almost irreparably hurt. As such, they both stepped back and left him alone. The two were wary about touching him, but stayed close by just in case they had to. It was only when Jesse started to gag and wretch a bit more that Gabriel moved in. He was desperate.

 

“Focus for me, Jesse. I need you to calm down,” he said, making some sort of motion to Jack off to the side. “Deep breaths, okay? Remember, in and out.” Gabriel paused to breathe like he had instructed, and Jesse, bless his soul, tried to copy as best he could.

 

Jesse saw Jack come behind Gabriel, handing the man a bottle of water and something else Jesse couldn’t really make out. A moment later, Gabriel was gently running his fingers across Jesse’s jaw. It made Jesse flinch more than it should’ve (last time that had happened, the bodies - _oh God, the bodies_ -), but the hand on his face remained there, moving in soothing circles until he didn’t reject its touch any longer. Then, very carefully, Gabriel pressed his fingers against Jesse’s jaw to encourage him, not force him, to open his mouth.

 

Even in the back of his muddled mind, Jesse knew a command when he saw one. Felt one, in this case. He knew he could resist it if he wanted to. Still, something that had wormed its way into his brain cried for him _not_ to, like not following Gabriel’s commands were worse than whatever might come after (mutilated bodies be damned). Obedience was so deeply ingrained in him that he didn’t even think twice about opening his mouth. Didn’t think twice as Gabriel shoved something small and dry down his throat. Didn’t think twice as both Jack and Gabriel quickly helped his trembling hands bring the water to his lips to help wash the bitter taste from his tongue. His reward (because there always was one, _always_ ) was gentle crooning, praising him for doing such a good job, for being such a good boy.

 

He was... good.

 

Although Gabriel stepped away, he remained close enough to keep Jesse from trying to rip his hair out again, or something worse. It became apparent that the vigilance wasn’t needed after a few minutes, though; Jesse felt the tension in his muscles dissipate slowly, his cries turning into pitiful hiccups as his body found itself winding down. It eventually registered that it was a pill that had been shoved down his throat. If Jesse thought hard enough, he could probably guess that it belonged to Gabriel, not himself, but had been carefully used in this emergency nonetheless. He would still be undoubtedly safe, however. 

 

Despite all that had happened with the Moira situation, Jesse still trusted Gabriel. He wouldn’t have given Jesse some kind of drug that would harm him, or something strong enough to poison him (SEP made Gabriel metabolize substances differently, so dosage was something to be wary of). The trust was strong enough that Jesse didn’t panic when his breathing eventually slow down, or when his body tilted forward and his world started to spin.

 

He was falling. Jesse registered that the ground was closer than before, was still getting closer, but he also heard somebody rush over to catch him. Not a second later, he was face-to-face with Gabriel, who moved to embrace him as they sat on the ground. Jesse sluggishly reciprocated (although he more or less just slung his arms around Gabriel’s hips). His chin rested on Gabriel’s shoulder as soothing circles were rubbed into his back. Off in the distance, Jesse could see Jack approaching the two of them, eventually moving to sit in the chair that Jesse had just fallen out of. He couldn’t see Jack once he was behind him, but Jesse could feel Jack’s fingers running tenderly through his hair.

 

Both his and Gabriel’s administrations were enough to finally bring Jesse’s mind to rest. They all stayed like that for a very long time, so long that it must’ve seemed like Jesse had fallen asleep (and oh, did he want to). He was still awake, however, when Gabriel and Jack both started to talk.

 

“What the hell was _that_ about?” It was Gabriel. His voice was laced with such concern, such pain, that Jesse almost felt guilty for something he couldn’t control.

 

“I don’t really know. I just found him drinking outside of the lounge before I brought him to you.”

 

“What was he doing down there? I thought he’d gone to bed.”

 

Jesse could feel more than see Jack’s sudden mood shift. It was such a venomous aura that Jesse felt himself tense, enough so that Gabriel tightened his grip, no doubt afraid that Jesse might’ve been afflicted by another nightmare. It wasn’t Jesse that was about to have to deal with horrors, though.Jack could be spiteful. He could be hateful and vindictive and cruel, but it was only when he thought other people deserved it. In this instance, his actions were justifiably correct.

 

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe he was celebrating his birthday. Which you _forgot_.” Jack’s whisper was more of a vicious hiss, and the sudden mortification that coursed through Gabriel was so strong that Jesse could feel it in his own body. Before Jack could continue, Gabriel started to speak in his own defense. Not the wisest choice.

 

“Don’t act so self-righteous, you knew I was busy!” he said, and his grip tightened in what was no doubt anger. It lessened just for a moment when Gabriel added, more hesitantly, “I had another meeting with Moira. It was... urgent.”

 

 _Another_?

 

Oh _fuck no._

 

Jesse couldn’t help the blistering ire that exploded in his chest, and without any care for his condition, he slammed his fists as hard as he could into Gabriel’s chest as he pushed himself away. The man was obviously surprised, which allowed Jesse enough time to rise to his feet. He almost fell backwards on Jack; thank God the man was up and ready to support him, grabbing onto his arm in order to keep him steady. Jesse had no words. Whether from drunkenness, drugs, or the feeling of utter betrayal, it really was impossible to tell. Maybe it was a mixture of all three. He couldn’t bring himself to care either way, and only shot a vicious glare down at Gabriel, just like he had done earlier during the meeting. He just had to do something, _anything_ , to convey the pain that his words never could.

 

“Jesse, I-“

 

“Shut the hell up,” he hissed. He ignored Gabriel’s sudden desperate pleas, and instead chose to make his way to the door. It was a struggle even with Jack’s help.

 

The longer he stood, the more his world tilted in odd ways. Everything was doubling or tripling, and Jesse’s heart thundered so loudly in his ears that it was hard to focus on anything else but that. Still, he somehow managed to make it out into the hall and slam the door before he crashed. At least it saved his remaining dignity a little.Jesse didn’t even bother to look at Jack, but not because he had done anything wrong. Quite the opposite, in fact. He had remembered Jesse’s birthday. Remembered _him_. This man, who was not his partner, not his commander, not anything but his friend, had actually made Jesse his top priority.

 

And Gabriel, who was all of those things, didn’t.

 

Jesse wanted to cry again. He wanted to kick and scream and just _destroy_ something. He wanted to shoot down every single dummy that Athena would allow him. He wanted everything but the searing numbness that had washed over his entire body. He felt his cheeks, previously drained of their color, flush a violent red as he pushed himself off of the wall and started to stumble back towards his own room. Like hell he would sleep with Gabriel tonight.

 

“Jesse, just-“ Jack cautiously grabbed him by the arm, pulling him backwards a bit and turning him so they were facing one another. “You’re not in your right mind, okay? You’re a hazard to yourself. You need someone to watch over you.”

 

Jesse wanted to protest (he wanted a lot of things tonight, it seemed), but Jack _did_ have a point, and it was one that couldn’t easily be disputed. Jesse really did need for someone to look after him. What was left of his bruised and broken pride shattered under that realization, and he felt himself turn bitter, maybe even resentful, for allowing himself to turn so... so _weak_. Jesse didn’t even want to be in his own presence with his current condition, let alone in anyone else’s. The list of people he would tolerate was dangerously low, anyways.

 

Gabriel sure as fuck out of the picture for a good, long while, and Angela would probably kill him for mixing drinking and drugs, so that left either Victor or Jack. Victor, however, was still sleeping peacefully down in the lounge with the others, and Jesse had absolutely no desire to disturb him at such a late hour, only to have him babysit his angry, incapacitated ass. 

 

That left Jack, then.

 

“Take me to your room,” Jesse commanded, although his voice was nothing more than a hoarse slur at this point. No doubt he was near impossible to understand. Jack could obviously translate (or maybe he was just guessing at this point), and with very careful movements, he guided the two of them through the twisting, winding hallways until they reached their destination. Jesse had never been more thankful that Jack’s quarters were almost half a building away.

 

Overwatch and Blackwatch had almost always been separated, differentiated by their goals and kept away from each other to keep from tainting one another’s  work. That often suited everyone just fine. Blackwatch kept to themselves and the darkness, while Overwatch stayed overwhelmingly bright. It was a huge shock to Jesse’s impaired mind, which continued to linger as he stepped into Jack’s room. It was such a far cry from Gabriel’s quarters. Hell, it wasn’t even like his own. The room was soft and gentle in nature, and the warm glow that radiated from it was completely captivating. Subtle colors derived from the heavens were a big leap from the darkened allure of his own world, and Jesse almost couldn’t comprehend it all as Jack carefully led him to the bed, setting him down before taking a small step back. His hand still remained on Jesse’s shoulder, as if afraid he would fall into the floor.

 

“You can take the bed, okay? I’ll sleep on the couch for tonight,” Jack said, and gave Jesse such a tender smile that his heart ached.

 

Maybe it was the need to be comforted, or maybe it stemmed from his sudden unbearable pain, but Jesse found himself grabbing Jack’s wrist with such desperation that it was almost palpable in the air.

 

“Sleep with me,” he begged, and weakly pulled Jack forwards. “I don’t... I don’t think I can-“

 

Jack shushed him as he gently pried Jesse’s hand off his wrist. Jesse knew it was a risk to ask, knew he was probably pushing his luck or stomping on some sort of fundamental boundary, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Maybe he would when he sobered up, but he still doubted it. Jack didn’t stray very far; he moved only to strip and slide on a pair of loose sweatpants, then finally came to stand between the couch and the bed. He hesitated. Using the judgement that Jesse momentarily could not, his mind juggled the pros and cons (because there sure as _hell_ were cons), only to sag his shoulders with a sigh. Jesse smiled. Jack had given in to the temptation. 

 

Well, sorta.

 

Jack made sure to push Jesse onto one side of the bed while he stayed distantly on the other. Even when they‘d both settled in, Jack kept a large gap between them, not even willing to touch Jesse in any way at all. No hugs, no accidental brushing, no nothing. Instead, he rolled onto his side, facing away from Jesse as he curled up under the blankets and rested his head on his pillow. He didn’t speak another word.

 

For whatever reason, Jesse felt... hurt? Worse than hurt, really; he was already left raw and vulnerable by Gabriel’s neglect, and to have Jack just ignore him? Something in Jesse increased his desperation tenfold. It clogged his already drugged and drunken brain, clouding his thoughts and the superior logic that was normally the backbone of Blackwatch. It was a terrible feeling, and he needed some way to fix it. Jesse, in his mental haze, felt himself reverting back to his more questionable past (as if Blackwatch was any better), remembering the ways it would allow him some form of catharsis.

 

_Sex and food, that’s your price._

 

The words of King bubbled up slowly into his mind. The old man wasn’t _wrong_ (of course he wasn’t), but some part of Jesse was screaming that his actions had consequences, that he could do better than this, that he was above his feral nature.

 

But... was he really?

 

Had Jesse ever _really_ been above his own nature? Or had he been forced to water it down for the convenience of others? The more he thought on it, the more he felt that it was the second option instead of the first. Why should he have to change who he was for other people’s sakes? They sure as hell didn’t change for him. When he brewed on it a bit more, Jesse didn’t feel half as bad about his violent outbursts, about the wildness that still lingered in his bones. Even his base desires made him feel no guilt. The defiance that Gabriel had so thoroughly, painfully tucked away exploded inside of Jesse, as if his mental restraints had finally broken and the floodwaters had once again been released; he might’ve still loved Gabriel, but Jesse’s obedience would be something he would never get back.

 

His friends, though... he still loved his friends, but did they have his obedience? Well, he worked _with_ them, not _for_ them, and even if he did, it wouldn’t be the same subservient behavior he tended to show with Gabriel. It was more of an oligarchy with them. That was typically how Blackwatch ran, anyways. But what about Overwatch? Did it run like that? Or was Jack just like Gabriel? It sorta felt like that at the moment.Jesse knew somewhere in his brain that he was being petty and needy and _weak_ , that his inhibitions were too low, that others might be at risk due to his foolishness, but for the thousandth time that night, he couldn’t really bring himself to care. He hardly cared, either, when he pressed against Jack’s back, or when he yanked on Jack’s arm to try and get him to roll over.

 

“What are you doing, Jess?” he murmured. He sounded half-asleep, but his eyes were hardly bleary as he followed Jesse’s demands. He didn’t flinch even as Jesse started to lay his hands against his chest and tangle their legs together; it was an action far too intimate for their relationship. Still, Jack didn’t stop it.

 

Jesse simply let himself continue to move closer. He felt emboldened by the lack of resistances or display of disgust, and chose to ghost his fingertips along Jack’s ribs, slowly working his way down to the hipbone that just barely jutted out from the waistband of his sweatpants. Jesse felt Jack shiver beneath his touch, and smiled against the man’s neck despite himself. Finally, Jack’s hands stopped him before he could go any lower. It wasn’t aggressive or angry, but he encircled both of Jesse’s wrists in one hand, bringing them back up until Jack could hold them against his chest (albeit he didn’t let them go, choosing to lazily hold them there instead). Jack’s heart was beating swiftly beneath Jesse’s fingertips.

 

“Go to sleep, Jesse,” Jack said. He sounded unbelievably tired, perhaps even exhausted, but lingering underneath it all was taut self-restraint. “You... you’re doing this because you’re upset at Gabriel. You _know_ you aren’t thinking straight.”

 

Jesse knew the sound of temperance, the one he’d heard many a man and woman use with him in the past; Jack _wanted_ this. It was something so familiar that Jesse could easily recognize it, even through the haze of drugs and alcohol (wasn’t he often incapacitated like this back in his misspent youth, anyways?). Yes, Jack wanted whatever Jesse had to offer him. That much had always been apparent. In lieu of speaking, Jesse slowly started to nose along Jack’s throat, and with every kiss he gave, he could feel Jack’s breath hitching, his body shuddering when Jesse would nip playfully at his flesh.

 

It felt like a victorious game over when Jesse purposeful pressed his lips to Jack’s, all the while starting to grind against him like he so often did with Gabriel. Unlike Gabriel, though, Jack tried to speak up, only to horribly fail. His composure shattered, and before Jesse could register anything in his foggy brain, Jack had torn himself away and pushed himself straight on top of Jesse. A means of control, not lust. At least not completely (Jesse could blatantly feel the election that strained against Jack’s sweatpants). Jesse’s hands, now pinned above his head, were no longer loosely held, nor was he treated as something fragile. He felt his own sluggish body try to tense from the sudden change.

 

“McCree,” Jack started. His face was dropped low enough to reside near Jesse’s throat, and his warm breath caused goosebumps to rise Jesse’s skin. “Listen to me. You’re not thinking this through. You and Gabriel-“

 

“Fuck Gabriel.”

 

Jesse heard the brisk, involuntary laugh that escaped Jack’s mouth, but the grip on his wrists tightened almost painfully thereafter. Not that Jesse really cared. He was wholly focused on trying to cant his hips upwards, trying to get some reaction, until Jack’s free hand pressed harshly against his stomach (not to hurt Jesse, no, or to respond to his requests; just to keep him in place). It was only when Jesse let out a strained breath that Jack froze. 

 

Jesse realized it wasn’t the sound that made Jack stop; no, he could feel warm fingers hesitantly rucking up his thin shirt, only to trace against the jagged scar along his skin. Jack had felt it under the fabric. Not surprising. It was an ugly thing, really, thick and painfully noticeable. Jesse hated the way it marred his body, hated how it stood out on his tanned skin, _hated_ when others would stare at it silently, like it was something to be disgusted at or pitied. Jesse truly thought it was gruesome. He felt horrendously self-conscious as Jack ran his fingers along the scar, only stopping when it disappeared onto Jesse’s back. 

 

“What the hell did you do?” Jack asked. Back and forth, he carefully traced the accessible parts of the scar. He would rest slightly above Jesse’s navel on occasion, but never for long, like if he could continue his administrations, the old wound will spill its own secrets. Jesse simply shrugged, or at least he tried to. Having his arms above his head made that gesture a little hard to do. 

 

“Mission gone south,” he said, letting his head loll to the side and away from Jack. He didn’t feel capable of taking pity at the moment, and he felt like that’s what he would see if he looked at Jack hard enough. Even without looking, though, he knew that his explanation wasn’t adequate.

 

“Gabe broke his leg, I went back for him, and we had a nice little run in with some lovely folk. Genji also kicked it a bit, but that’s beside the point.” Jesse paused. He felt his breath hitch when Jack’s hand accidentally made the skin pinch. A rush of pain radiated from the jagged source. “It’s just a scar. It... it don’t hurt no more.”

 

“Liar.”

 

Jack finally let go of Jesse’s wrists and sat back on his haunches, but Jesse didn’t move. Instead, he let Jack observe him. He could feel those glacial eyes roaming every inch of his skin, and after a few moments, Jack’s hands started to follow. They traced around his scar, over each and every rib. They ran across his collarbone, along his neck, his jaw, and then finally his lips.

 

“In the morning, please just... forgive me.”

 

Before Jesse could respond to the request, Jack cradled his head and let their lips collide. They stayed like that for a few moments, and just when Jesse felt Jack pull back and try to start speaking (no doubt an apology by the tone of the first couple of words), Jesse reached up and pulled Jack back down. He laughed against Jack’s lips as the man floundered a bit. Eventually Jack got back into the rhythm, though, and took the lead back from Jesse. He felt Jack smiling against his skin as the kisses slowly trailed back down his body, stopping just short of the scar on his stomach (perhaps he was afraid he would hurt Jesse again). Just as he was about to continue and go lower, a shrill shriek made both of them almost jump out of their skins.

 

It was Jack’s phone.

 

Jesse had a pretty good idea as to who it was on the other end of the line.

 

“I’m getting some weird déjà vu,” he muttered. He watched as Jack slowly, reluctantly moved himself to sit on the edge of the bed, then reach over to grab and answer the phone.

 

“Morrison speaking.”

 

God, he sounded so tired. Jesse felt he could laugh at the slight exasperation that bled into Jack’s weariness, and if he knew it wasn’t Gabriel on the other end, Jesse would’ve already been wickedly cackling from his amusement. Jack, of course, wasn’t near as delighted. He threw one last look at Jesse before rising from his spot, practically dragging his feet as he went to talk in the bathroom for more privacy. That didn’t stop Jesse from trying to listen in. He couldn’t hear Gabriel, but if he strained his ears hard enough, he could just make out Jack’s responses.

 

“No, he’s not lost, I’ve got him.”

 

Pause.

 

“Stop fussing. He’s sleeping on my couch tonight.”

 

Another pause, but Jesse swore he could hear Gabriel’s yelling all the way from the bathroom. Probably not such a far-fetched idea, all things considered.

 

“You know _exactly_ what you did.” The venom in Jack’s voice didn’t go unnoticed. “Even without Moira, Jesse has been running himself into the ground doing _your_ work. When’s the last time he’s actually slept, Gabriel? Whether from recklessness or exhaustion, he’s either going to be killed in action or eventually just kill himself.”

 

That wasn’t too far off the mark; Jesse really hadn’t slept much. He’d been way more concerned with making absolutely sure that his plans and tactics were flawless for the upcoming mission. He’d told himself that he would stop once he was sure, but Jesse was still worried. He didn’t even have a single earthly idea as to when the mission actually _was_. Gabriel had never given him a solid date (which was a frequent problem thanks to the UN), and Jesse was so afraid that if he didn’t pour every ounce of his being into his work, he would run out of time and his friends might suffer the consequences.

 

Another thing Jack had gotten right; without proper rest, Jesse was slowly becoming a sitting duck. Athena had warned him that his accuracy had gone down substantially, that his training results were going to shit with every simulation he failed. He had even gotten his ass beaten by a younger recruit (although everyone had just laughed it off as Jesse giving the kid a break). If he went out into the field in his current condition, he would’ve been better off fighting with a missing arm. He would probably doze off if there weren’t enough enemies to keep him awake.

 

Just the same, there were currently no enemies in Jack’s room to prevent him from falling asleep, and now that he wasn’t preoccupied with Jack’s lips, either, he felt himself drifting off. From Moira O’Deorain to Bora Khan to Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison, the night had been a rough one. Jesse deserved to rest.

 

Even if Heaven started to rain down hellfire, he would sleep right on through it. Consequences be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel super bad for Jesse I stg, but I can’t seem to resist the urge to punch him in the face
> 
> Also!
> 
> Again, here’s the link for the song, just in case:
> 
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ySPJ5pBtjw4
> 
>  
> 
> Another thing is, if you’ve not read anything before this: first of all, I’m sorry if you have no idea what tf is going down (because this series is LONG), I try to kinda refresh ideas and people and stuff a bit for that reason! 
> 
> The whole nightmare sequence is made up of past trauma from the other parts of the story. I promise it’s not random XD still, I really tried to make it to where you still might be able to read it and feel like you’re not missing out on too much!


	3. Please Don’t Forget Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: you know what? I should probably keep this plot twist completely secret
> 
> Also me: make a thousand references to it. Also add foreshadowing.

Consequences seemed to find Jesse very early, because as soon as Blackwatch had gotten the okay from the UN to head to Somalia, Gabriel told them that Moira would be joining them. Because why the fuck not, right? Whether or not it was some sort of petty revenge at Jesse choosing to sleep in Jack’s room (Gabriel sure as fuck didn’t know the details, though), Jesse didn’t care. All he cared about was the frustration that his team was showing.

 

Jesse, however, felt he had a way to fix it.

 

“There’s no fucking way,” Jonathan muttered. He was walking swiftly at Jesse’s side, rambling away and venting his many objections. “She’s unethical, she’s immoral, she’s-“

 

“A pain in our asses,” Esme added. She was also walking with them, but had move faster to match their stride.

 

Just like Jesse, the entire team had massive problems with everything that was going on. They all felt on edge about the changes that were happening, about the sudden lack of control that they had in their own little world. Change was scary, and Jesse understood that. It was why he wanted to level the playing field just a bit, if only for his own sake.

 

Thoughts and feelings aside, Jesse needed to hurry. Their transport was to leave in roughly half an hour, and he couldn’t afford to waste any time. The clock was ticking. Time limit or not, though, he did feel a little bad as he slammed the medical ward’s doors back into the wall (he just prayed it wouldn’t dent anything), no doubt seeming like a blatant show of aggression or impatience. Maybe Angela wouldn’t kill him too bad? Well, she didn’t seem to be present at the moment, at least. All of the nurses and doctors that had been rushing around hardly looked at them (being so used to the chaos, that wasn’t surprising), and those who did were new, inexperienced interns. They _all_ made an effort to step out of Jesse’s way, however. He hadn’t slowed his stride at all; he didn’t even stop as he approached the front desk, only turning his gaze a smidge as he moved past it.

 

“You get what I asked for, Hudson?” Jesse called, and the good nurse behind the desk nodded. “Thank you kindly. I’ll be coming back for it.”

 

Jesse felt his friends looking at him curiously, and he was almost inclined to explain himself to them, but he didn’t have the time as they pushed through the halls of the ward, passing door after door. He only had one destination in mind. It must’ve been pretty self-explanatory, because as soon as Jesse marched his party down towards his desired target, he saw Jonathan and Esme both stumble back a bit. He allowed them to stay outside of the room as Jesse himself barged in.

 

“What the-“

 

“You up for a little trip, Genji?”

 

Genji stood up faster than Jesse ever could. He obviously hadn’t been expecting a visit, and truthfully, neither had Jesse, but he went easily as Jesse helped him unplug from a few machines. Genji had explained to him just what those machines and wires and whatnot were for (Jesse tried to come sit with him often, just because he actually liked the cyborg’s company), so Jesse knew when Genji could run around, when he needed to be ‘plugged in’, and a whole slew of other things. Genji, thankfully, was in working order.

 

“Where are we going?” Genji asked. He now followed beside Jesse, while Jonathan and Esme followed behind them. “What are we doing?”

 

“We’re going on a mission.”

 

Jesse heard Genji scoff (no doubt from the lack of a real explanation), but nobody really corrected the statement. They all just followed Jesse as they walked back down the halls, back through the crowds of people that parted for them like the Red Sea. Despite how respectfully they moved, though, murmurs arose from all around them. Questions, most likely, but occasionally thrown in their was a derisive, uneasy, or even a fearful tone of voice, like they were trying to drown out the uncertainty with their thoughts. Jesse paid them no mind. He even felt like cackling when he moved past the front desk again, this time holding out his hand as walked; he delighted in the gasps as Hudson threw a very... _concerning_ object into his grasp, and actually did laugh as he passed back through the doors, turning to hand the object to Genji.

 

It was his katana.

 

“First of all, before you say anything, just remember that _I’m_ the one who gave that to you, not Hudson,” Jesse started. He didn’t want the good nurse to get punished for helping out. “Second of all, you’re welcome.”

 

Behind him, Jesse could hear the halls echoing with Jonathan and Esme’s joyful laughter, giving a few loud, proud whoops as they continued on. They knew exactly what this was; Jesse was giving Gabriel a taste of his own shitty medicine. As a bonus, they both liked Genji, too.

 

The entire party’s morale went through the roof as they continued their march to the aircraft hangar, and it didn’t even stop as they met up with Gabriel and the others, who were just finishing loading their materials and supplies onto the Orca. The quiet chatter that had been in the room was silenced at the loud cheering and bantering of Jesse’s group. They hardly hushed down, even when Gabriel himself tried to stop them.

 

“McCree! What the _hell_ is Shimada doing here?” Gabriel demanded, and Jesse came to a stop, toe-to-toe with his commander like nobody else ever could. The others, taking the safe route, fell back behind him a good distance. Similarly, Jesse could see that the remainder of his team (Bora, Kara, Victor, and fucking _Moira_ ) had gathered behind Gabriel.

 

Bora was staring at him oddly. He was behind all of the others, so Jesse nearly overlooked the man, but Bora’s darkened eyes gouged into him like cattle prods. He couldn’t tell the message that was trying to be conveyed. Not like before, but Bora looked... worried? Why was his enemy worried for him? Well, Jesse supposed that they weren’t really enemies anymore, that maybe they were finally neutral. Whatever had happened a few nights ago had changed them. Apparently it was rather strong, too; Bora shot a brief glance at Moira, and Jesse followed trustingly. Moira’s face had always reminded him of a ratty little weasel, but her smile was sharp today, crueler and more pleased than it had any right to be.

 

Bora was warning him. Whatever it was that Bora knew that perhaps the others did not, he was trying to warn Jesse about it, and once again, Gabriel wasn’t.

 

So Jesse laughed.

 

He laughed too kindly to cover his bitterness, and he forced his face to scrunch up in a way that wasn’t really threatening like he thought it oughta be.

 

“I was really hoping this would be fine with you, I just couldn’t find the time to ask. I’m sorry, Gabe. I just really wanted for Genji to see Laas Geel with us if we have the chance to go! You know I hate that he’s been cooped up here, and besides, he’s good backup.”

 

Jesse mustered up such a charming smile that even Satan himself would feel flattered under its influence. It was so convincing that Gabriel’s anger seemed to falter, as if believing that Jesse truly meant no harm, truly thought that it would be okay to bring Genji with them. Jesse’s expression looked genuine. Or at least it did to those foolish enough to forget just who he was. Well, if Gabriel believed it, at least Jesse knew his charisma still worked. He would certainly be needing it if everything went to shit.

 

Regardless of whatever he or anyone else wanted to believe, Jesse was doggedly determined to stay alive, always had been and always would be. In this case, it would be making it through his commander’s wrath. Shrewdness, deception; it was what kept him alive. Gabriel knew that. Hell, he even _praised_ it, as long as it wasn’t used against him. Everyone knew that Gabriel had always called him clever, always said the things Jesse did were smart and that he was a brilliant boy. To Jesse, though, it wasn’t that he was necessarily being clever or smart or brilliant (although he knew very well that he was); he was just trying to make it to a new day.

 

That level of survival forcefully demanded some wily and underhanded tactics in life, and Jesse had very willingly and skillfully learned to use that to his advantage. What he tended to show everyone else (and what he was now starting to show to Gabriel) was far from what Jesse was truly feeling. Surely some of them had to know that! They knew that Jesse could lie, and they knew for damn sure that he actually _would_ , but at the same time, they knew him for who and what he was. They knew his heart. They couldn’t really be fooled after all these years, right?

 

But these were foolish people, and they trusted in foolish things.

 

When Jesse looked at the team in front of him, all of them looked thoroughly convinced; they believed (against their better judgement, Jesse thought) that he was as an honest man, and that his emotions were as pure as the driven snow. So they _couldn’t_  tell the difference anymore, could they? Not that Jesse was really helping them much to figure his emotions out. He didn’t really want to. Jesse loved them, truly and dearly, but his heart was aching like it never had before, and suddenly... suddenly he was _terrified_. He was scared absolutely to death of what they knew about him, and of how close he had allowed every single one of them to get.

 

So Jesse chose to play the deceiver. He now felt that he had to, because if he didn’t, he would become shattered by whatever pain he knew would eventually come. If even Gabriel could be fooled by his fronts now (Gabriel, his _partner_ , the man he planned to spend his life with), Jesse knew that nobody else would ever be able to tell where his honesty started and his fallacies ended. He would be safe. The others would be none the wiser, they would be lied to, but it sure as hell wasn’t his problem to deal with.

 

Not anymore.

 

With one last smile, Jesse ushered Genji and his party into the Orca, with Gabriel and the remainder of the team following along behind them.

 

 

————

 

 

What Jesse wouldn’t give for birthday parties and icy drinks. Somalia was hot as hell in the middle of June, and everybody’s clothes (black sure as shit wasn’t the best choice) were drenched in sweat. Even Genji, with all of his self-cooling technology, seemed to be burning up.

 

What made everything worse was the presence of Moira, and how she and Gabriel were chatting away like life-long friends having a reunion. Jesse honestly felt like his rising blood pressure was adding to his heat stroke. The only thing he was glad about was that he didn’t have to witness the interaction; he could really only hear them over the comms, but all the same, Jesse’s features twisted into something akin to disgust. He knew everyone else probably looked the same, even if they were a building apart.

 

Jesse fucking _loathed_ the smugglers who thought it was a peachy little idea to house themselves and all of their inventory in a warehouse without AC. Surely with all the money they were making, they could at _least_ afford a fan. The dead air was miserable; it was stuffy and suffocating, and Esme giving a stifled cough confirmed it.

 

“I love you, McCree. Really, I do,” she started, “But your positioning this time is terrible.”

 

Genji’s airy laugh rang out over the comms. It was a good shift from his normal attitude most of the time.

 

“I certainly agree,” he said, “Unlike you, though, I have very good luck today. My part is almost done.”

 

Jesse rolled his eyes and told them to pipe down, that they all still had a mission to do and he’d give them something to whine about if they didn’t focus. If he were to be honest, though, Jesse felt a bit miffed at their complaints. He certainly agreed that it was hot and miserable, but he’d been planning for this mission over a month, and he’d given them all the best possible route to have proper ventilation while still being able to do their damn jobs. He’d written it down for them, too; Jesse didn’t do all that paperwork for shits and giggles, that much was for fucking sure.

 

Maybe they just hadn’t paid very good attention when Gabriel went over the details with them. Jesse had been long gone by that point, acting as the scout for the group, and so it was Gabriel’s job to get them prepared and positioned using whatever Jesse had drawn up. An effective system, for sure. Jesse felt extra glad that, like Genji, his part was almost done. He and Genji had located the weapons and supplies caches respectively; it was three or four rooms full of guns and shipment containers full of hay (apparently that’s how they smuggled things, but Jesse, thanks to Deadlock’s ‘creativity’, was not one to judge shipping methods). That being said, Jesse felt relieved that he was working his way back along the catwalks of the building.

 

While he had no enemies to worry about (he’d killed all the ones that might sound the alarm, and it’s not like there were many of them anyways), Jesse still felt on edge as he pushed himself through the opened section of a window, anxious enough that he walked a bit faster than normal to the rendezvous point on the neighboring building’s roof. Moira noticed and had the gall to laugh.

 

“Anxious to leave, are we?” she asked, and if it weren’t for Gabriel’s watchful stare and the sound of Genji walking up behind him, Jesse knew his response wouldn’t have been very passive. There had yet to be a fight today, though, so Jesse merely flipped her off and walked away, much to Gabriel’s audible exasperation. They should all just be thankful that Jesse didn’t kick Moira off the roof.

 

She and Gabriel had been sitting this one out for the most part, the only exception being them coming in behind Jesse in order to help the scouting effort (of course, they only came once Gabriel had finished instructing the others). It bothered Jesse, that those two got to sit back and watch while he and his friends were busting their asses. His only consolation was that Gabriel and Moira (pale, Irish Moira) had to bake in the midday sun.

 

Truthfully, that hardly made Jesse feel better, so he continued his irate pacing along the roof until he was worn out. All things considered, though, that wasn’t very hard to do; the sun was sweltering and they had no cover. Maybe the building _had_ been a better option. Genji’s body seemed to agree with Jesse with how many mechanical sounds were coming from him. They were very, very loud and concerning now that Genji had followed him and come closer.

 

“You all good?” Jesse asked. He still worried about his friend, about having him break down and become irreparable or damaged or anything of the sort. Those noises no doubt meant he was overheating. Genji seemed less bothered by it than Jesse, though.

 

“Have some faith, McCree. Everything will be fine.”

 

Famous last words, Jesse thought. Not that he didn’t trust Genji; he certainly did, but just like Jesse, the cyborg had the problem of pushing himself to the limit, to see what he could and couldn’t do. Jesse had done that often when he first came, just in a different way. Rebellion was a hell of a bitch (at least it had been for Gabriel).

 

As both he and Genji sat down, Jesse could hear mindless chatter on the comms that he didn’t particularly pay any real mind to; the mission was coming to a close, thank goodness. Everybody would no doubt be happy to get home. Gabriel seemed overly eager, calling for both Jesse and Genji to come back over to him and Moira.

 

“Khan should be at the drop-off point by now, so why don’t we go meet him early?” Gabriel asked, “The others are already on their way back. We can load up equipment so we can just fucking leave already.”

 

True to his word, Jesse could see the Orca off a few rooftops away (it was closer than where Jesse had originally planned it to be), and Esme and Kara were now joining them at the rendezvous, laughter ringing out even in the miserable conditions. It made Jesse feel a whole lot better.

 

“Hey, Giroux. Are you and Abbott at your meeting point yet?” Jesse asked. He and Genji were already following behind Gabriel, with Kara, Esme, and Moira disconnecting from their comms and running ahead to get to their airship first. All of their spirits were lifted now that they were going home (or finally getting air conditioning, more accurately). Still, nauseating dread creeped into Jesse’s gutand seeped further into his body at the silence across the line.

 

“Giroux, Abbott, report. Where are you? What’s your situation?” Again, nothing.

 

Gabriel turned to face him, concern only faintly etched into his skin, and was just about to speak before he was silenced. A deafening roar shattered the air around all of them. It was strong enough that Jesse felt the heat on his skin, and his hearing was rendered useless as sharp ringing echoed through his dulled ears.

 

An explosion.

 

The building had exploded.

 

Jesse couldn’t remember consciously forcing his body to move, only comprehending that he was, and that the heavy escaping smoke and fire from the building were starting to clog and sear his lungs, even at a distance. He was vaguely aware that voices were calling out to him, too, vaguely felt someone else beside him, but he didn’t care. He didn’t even care as he took a blind leap of faith off of the roof and straight into the broken window.

 

If there had been a better was to get in, Jesse didn’t concern himself with it. It was hard to think of anything but the heavy metal beams falling around him. The catwalks were collapsing, too, and the one Jesse had landed on gave way beneath him. He was only saved by a quick jerk backwards.

 

Genji. It was Genji, but it was hard to tell with the black smoke (was it toxic? Was it even safe to take a breath?) starting to suffocate the both of them, blocking out the light.

 

“You need to get out of here,” Jesse hissed, and moved to push Genji towards the open window above them. Glass was sticking out in the flesh parts of his body, and it made Jesse suddenly, painfully aware of the shards in his own skin.

 

Genji moved his hand away and started to pull Jesse further into the building. “What you think I need is irrelevant, Jesse. You need help finding the others. You _cannot_ do this alone.”

 

And he was right. As much as Jesse hated it, Genji was right. He _couldn’t_ do this alone, because there were two people who needed to be saved, and Jesse was only one man. Instead of arguing, Jesse simply pulled his bandana over his nose, nodded his head, and started running towards where he knew his friends should be. Genji was right behind him. It was better if they stuck close; Jesse could hear the building groaning, bits and pieces of the heavy steel beams above them cracking and falling towards the ground.

 

Jesse didn’t want to look up, but he _really_ regretted looking down. The world below them looked like Hell had opened up, and he knew that if either of them fell down there, they would be burned alive (that was a distant threat, though, because smoke inhalation and the inability to breathe would kill them first). The hay that had been spread all over was probably what caused the inferno to be so intense. It made metal so scorching that Jesse felt some strangled groan pry itself from his lips as he forced himself to slip into and crawl through a nearby vent. He hardly felt relief as he made it to the other side; his hands and even his knees felt like they were blistering.

 

The only consolation was that Jesse could hear coughing and moaning below him, and it belonged to neither Genji or himself.

 

“Hey! Who’s there? Can you hear me?” Jesse called, running as fast as he could to the source of the noise. It wasn’t really much of a surprise that the only thing that came back was a weakened, sputtering gurgle, but Jesse knew that voice anywhere. It was with renewed vigor that he pushed past the blazing environment. Without much care for his physical state, Jesse jumped down the stairs as fast as he could (he couldn’t ignore the way his legs and lungs cried for him to stop), and continued his nonstop running as soon as he hit the bottom.

 

The platform they were on was just above the fire, but it was close enough to ground level that Jesse felt the hair on his arms burning away. His entire body was drenched in sweat as he finally came to a stop at where the noises had been. Sitting slumped against the wall was Jonathan Abbott. Jesse cringed as he took in the man’s appearance; the left half of his face (and a good portion of his body) was burned so horrendously that the skin was raw and bloodied, and his hands trembled as they held where his eye was supposed to be. Jesse could make out shrapnel buried deeply into the man’s skin, too.

 

Jesse knew that Jonathan wouldn’t register much with that pain. Talking would be useless. Automatically, he swooped down and pulled the man to his feet, pointedly ignoring that cries of agony as he pushed Jonathan swiftly in Genji’s direction.

 

“Get him out of here,” Jesse commanded, “You’re faster than me, and he’s- well, you know what I’m talking about.”

 

Genji did know, and Jesse watched as the cyborg wrapped an arm around Jonathan’s waist and hoisted him as best he could, walking off towards the vent and disappearing into the smoke. Jesse allowed himself to briefly worry for them before turning his mind back to his mission; he had to find Victor.

 

Jesse knew the man was somewhere in the same part of the building, or at least he should’ve been, because Jonathan hadn’t been very far from their rendezvous point. It would’ve certainly given Victor enough time to meet up. With that in mind, Jesse raced past the rising fire and tried to remember where the next room was. The door was on the platform, thank God. The metal handle seared into Jesse’s already inflamed palms, but he couldn’t stop, he _refused_ to. If his entire body was consumed by the fires of Hell, so be it. He had to save his family.

 

As Jesse ran into the other room, he could hear the beams groaning above him, rapidly losing integrity and even collapsing in some places. Off in the distance, he could even see some parts of the roof caving in. Sections of the walls had been destroyed in the explosion, too. If Jesse ever found Victor, at least those gaps might be a way out, but he could worry about that later; the burning building was quickly falling all around him, and if he didn’t hurry, he would be buried beneath the debris.

 

“Victor! Victor, can you hear me?” Jesse cried. He felt himself cursing and damning the smoke that had reduced his voice into a hoarse cough. “Where are you?”

 

Again and again, Jesse cried out for his friend; he ran around in all the places that he could, calling out until his voice finally gave out and he could speak no more. The smoke was killing him. He knew from experience that this was bad, that his wheezing and gasping wasn’t normal, nor was his disorientation. His bandana could only protect him so much. Jesse almost thought he was hallucinating when something grabbed ahold of his ankle; it took all of his willpower not to kick, and he was thankful he didn’t as he looked down at the hand holding him.

 

It was Victor.

 

The man was crying, his face contorted with pain while he struggled for breath, and it wasn’t very hard to see why; Victor’s body was pinned beneath the agonizing weight of red hot metal. Jesse knew automatically that the way Victor’s pelvis was dipped and deformed wasn’t natural by any means, that the impact of the metal beam had crushed it; Jesse also knew with painful certainty that it was shattered completely. Victor was broken and helpless, but despite his medical knowledge, the man seemed too distressed to even realize the extent of his own wounds.

 

“Help me, _please_ ,” he begged, and Jesse forced his failing body to comply. “I can’t- I can’t _move_ , Jesse, it hurts.”

 

Jesse couldn’t bare the feeling of his hands anymore. He couldn’t use them, he couldn’t stand the smell of his flesh burning whenever he tried to lift the beam, couldn’t stand the feeling of his blisters bursting while new ones swiftly rose up in their place. He tried - oh God, he tried - but heavy concrete was starting to rain down on them; the building was about to give way, he was sure of it. He had to hurry. Left desperate with no more options, Jesse forced himself to use his hands one last time, but only to lift the beam onto his back; he knew that was the only way he could have any kind of power or leverage.

 

It was surprising how torturously fast the fire consumed his untouched skin. Jesse felt more than heard his shredded throat release some godawful, unholy cry as the metal ate away at his armor, then his shirt, and finally his flesh, and before he could help himself, Jesse felt his body finally give way. He was wholly prepared for the beam to crush both Victor and himself, but the pain never came. Jesse was almost reluctant to look up.

 

All reluctance melted away as a stifled groan polluted the air, and Jesse’s head snapped up so fast it honestly could’ve broken his neck.

 

It was Bora.

 

Jesse was almost certain that his oxygen deprived brain was playing tricks on him, that he was actually being crushed and that was his final delusion, but Bora was there. He was there, holding the beam up while his flesh burned away, and Jesse could only dumbly stare. Their eyes locked, just like they had before, and like the other few times, there wasn’t a trace of fear. Bora was not afraid.His eyes were... all-knowing, and he was _worried_ , but only for Jesse and Victor instead of himself.

 

If Jesse looked close enough, he felt he could see something other than the worry of the destruction all around them lurking behind his eyes. Something else was very prominent, and it very blatantly lingered there. In an instant, though, all of those things were consumed by a radiant kindness, and Jesse felt a familiar knot forming in his throat as they shared one final unspoken connection - and Jesse was certain it would be their last. He knew what this was, what Bora was doing. Jesse just hoped the sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain.

 

Without wasting another second, Jesse demanded that his shaking legs move, and he pulled Victor from his spot and into his arms. He couldn’t afford to be careful, even thought he knew Victor’s pelvis was shattered, so he forcefully ignored the man’s cries as he hobbled away from the scene. Jesse refused to look back as more concrete rained from above. They had to keep going, but Jesse felt both his heart and his body stop when a section of the roof gave way, and the sound of a heavy metal beam joining the concrete on the floor rang out in the chaos. Jesse suddenly felt it impossible to even move one step at a time. If he tried hard enough, he could convince himself it was the smoke making the tears drip down his cheeks.

 

That aside, the smoke certainly _was_ making him choke and cough and nearly vomit, and it was so thick that Jesse almost didn’t see the massive piece of stone that fell so close to him that it scraped his back and nearly forced him down; he stumbled forwards just enough to not do so. Even still, Jesse fell down as an agonizing heat wreaked havoc on his spine, and Victor landed roughly at his side.

 

The roaring fires and thunderous collapse of the building deafened Jesse. He looked up into the darkened world of smoke, into the inferno and the raining cement, and Jesse knew then, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they would not be leaving this place alive. They would die here. As a last ditch effort to save his friend, Jesse forced himself off of the ground and moved on top of Victor, shielding the man’s body as best he could from the destruction happening around them.

 

“Jesse, what- I don’t... what are you doing?” Victor rasped. His voice was made purely of despair, but whatever his next sentence was became silenced as Jesse forcefully put the bandana on the man’s face, a desperate attempt to try and block out the smoke. Another slab of concrete landing not far from where they were, and they both tense and trembled and shook against one another.

 

Jesse didn’t answer any of Victor’s questions, nor did he give way to his emotions like Victor had. Instead, he held himself steady as best he could and closed his eyes; for the first time in years, Jesse began to pray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, character redemption, you sweet temptation! Hope y’all like the feels as much as I do XD


	4. Please Don’t Say Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wound myself, truly I do. STILL! It’s been a fun little adventure and I’m glad a bunch of people are genuinely liking it! Thanks, guys!
> 
> NOW THEN! Who’s ready for the pain train?

Angela had said he was lucky.

 

Jesse didn’t disagree with her, but even if he did, he couldn’t find it in himself to argue.

 

Even with being given proper oxygen and a biotic field, his lungs refused to take in anything substantial, replaced with shallow breaths that often led to coughing. He would take that over the blisters that littered his skin any day; it was like a scourge on his body, devouring his hands, his legs, his back. God, his entire back had been damaged so badly that Angela had to do _something_ to it (Jesse only briefly caught that it was something with muscles and tendons), and some of his ribs had been cracked from the debris that had been raining from the sky. Angela said he should also be thankful that nothing happened to his spine.

 

Victor... hadn’t been so lucky. Angela had gone on and on trying to explain the injuries to Jesse the best she could, as _carefully_ as she could, but the overall message was clear: Victor would not walk again. Whatever damage that beam had done to his pelvis had also affected his spinal cord. It was permanent. Jesse had cried for a very long time when he’d been told that, and he cried even harder when they told him that Jonathan had suffered losses, too. He had lost his left eye, and his hearing was severely damaged on that side as well. Most of the left side of his body was.

 

Genji held up better than the rest of them. His cybernetic body had saved him, and the parts that _had_ been damaged were in the process of being repaired or replaced. The flesh portion of his body had suffered more from the glass from the window (both he and Jesse had to have shards dug out of their skin) than from the fire. His mentality was a bit better, too; he was sturdy as a rock when he visited Jesse once.

 

Unlike Genji, Jesse himself was emotionally wrecked, but the thing that drove him to truly openly weeping was the death of Bora. He cried and cried and cried until Angela drugged him in an act of desperation and fear. After that, he only wept at night, when nobody else was around. He was thankful for the darkness now; he was alone, and even the faint sounds of nurses seemed slower than usual. Probably the graveyard shift coming in. Jesse was thankful for that, too, because the third shift workers always left him alone unless Angela told them otherwise. After the first few days, though, even Angela had let him be.

 

Jesse, for the first time in his life, felt content to stay in the hospital room they had thrown him in. He didn’t even mind the sterile smell that clung to everything. Hell, he was even starting to find it _comforting_. As long as Jesse stayed in his room, he wouldn’t have to get up and start fighting again, wouldn’t have to face the remainder of his team, wouldn’t have to face the anger and pain and hurt that seared his flesh hotter than any fire ever could. Simply put, Jesse was a coward. He felt like a sniveling worm, a worthless piece of shit, because he had the luxury of wallowing away in bed. Angela was right, he should be thankful; he could still walk and see and hear. Jesse’s only damnable shame was that he was still alive.

 

A wave of God-knows-what (emotions had simply become a disarranged, turbulent muddle of nothing) rushed through Jesse, and for the thousandth fucking time that night, his eyes stung, and his throat felt as if someone had shoved a wooden knot down into it. It was through clenched teeth that Jesse started to curse himself. How fucking pathetic could he possible be? How could he just roll around in used tissues and scratchy sheets while everyone else was mourning? An overwhelming wave of frustration made his body ache, and Jesse was helpless as he rolled onto his back; he reveled in the agony he felt. At least it meant he was feeling _something_.

 

“You shouldn’t do that.”

 

The voice scolding him really held no bite, but the concern Jesse found laced there made his face contort into some broken perversion of what anger might’ve been. He didn’t want to deal with anyone’s pity tonight.

 

“Fuck off,” he hissed at Gabriel, “Or at least close the damn door. You’re just- I’m not going to-“

 

Jesse felt like screaming in frustration for his inability to speak clearly, and Gabriel was both smart and merciful for not trying to comment or correct him. Instead, he simply closed the door, pulled up the guest chair beside Jesse’s bed, and sat quietly. It was when he carefully rolled Jesse off of his blistered and bloodied back that Jesse started to truly, forcefully cry. He couldn’t explain _why_ that caused him to do that (maybe because he didn’t deserve the kindness), only that it did, and once again, Gabriel was merciful. He grabbed more tissues and wiped Jesse’s tears and mucus away in a solicitous manner, ever careful of the nose tubes and the drip in his arm, and continued to do so even after Jesse went through wave after wave of hysterics. Thank God that Gabriel was a patient man.

 

“It wasn’t your fault, Jesse. Sometimes... sometimes people make sacrifices for the ones that they love,” Gabriel murmured, both sorrowful and tired. His tender hand carefully stroked Jesse’s singed hair. “You couldn’t have done anything more than what you already did.”

 

“I could’ve been faster. I could’ve planned better. If I’d just-“

 

Gabriel cut him off with a light tug on his hair; it wasn’t strong enough to hurt, not at all, but Jesse felt the command even in the gentle action. He followed it like always.

 

“Do you know what survivor’s guilt is, Jesse?” Gabriel asked. His hand had gone back to its administrations, and Jesse was wholly content to not speak up at all. While he wasn’t sure _exactly_ what it was (he never really bothered with medical definitions), he was familiar with the term; in the very beginning, Jesse remembered that Angela had told him about it.

 

She said he suffered from that and what Jesse now knew as psychological trauma. As the years passed by, she told him it was probably best to see a therapist for those things; she’d done the same thing every time Jesse came to her for sedatives, or when he would wander around the halls, seeking something but not really knowing what it was. Angela was often sharp about this instance, but this time, she had been soft. As she had bandaged his hands and tore glass from his skin, she asked quietly, desperately, for him to consider talking to someone about what he had experienced. Jesse had guiltily humored her and said he would. He probably should’ve since the very beginning.

 

“Angie told me about it once, back when you first picked me up. Said I felt bad about not getting shot like the rest,” Jesse said, and for whatever reason, he felt anxious as he picked at the white gauze on his hands. “I didn’t think much about it at the time. All things considered, I just felt... lucky, I guess.”

 

He felt lucky until he didn’t. When he came down from his adrenaline-fueled high and realized he was in a land full of dangerous, murderous strangers, Jesse felt alone, isolated, almost desperate to join his fallen friends. Then, after he started to actually enjoy his time with Blackwatch, he slowly began to feel guilty that the others had died while he alone was chosen to live. Who was he to live in such safety and peace? Who was he to have true family, true friends, true people like Ana and Jack and Gabriel?

 

He had survived when the others hadn’t, and the sick deprivation therein still lingered in his mind on particularly bad occasions. Jesse supposed that feeling would be reawakened soon. Truthfully, it already had.

 

Perhaps Deadlock had been different from Blackwatch, but Bora was a part of his team all the same. The loss had left a void in Jesse’s chest. The hollowness that had been carved there felt tremendously more immense with the recent interactions between Bora and himself, and Jesse couldn’t help but think back on them. He wanted to remember them, cherish them, carry them in his heart as he trudged through the darkness. If it was all he had left, he would take it.

 

Despite his desire to just accept what kindness had been given, Jesse still wasn’t sure what to think about how Bora, after so many years of hating him, decided to even extend a hand to Jesse. It was confusing, and there had been no telltale signs of the warmth he had been shown.

 

Still, something in Jesse’s gut wasn’t settling right.

 

The first time Bora had ever reached out to him, Jesse had suffered a nightmare and the man was already there, ready to help; Jesse knew his nightmares were often silent (not his night terrors, just the nightmares). Unless he was remembering wrong, Bora had been sleeping on the opposite side of the room, the farthest away from him. There would’ve been no way that Bora could’ve heard Jesse.He had been awake, then. For whatever reason, Bora had been awake, and whatever had kept him from sleep had brought him to watch over Jesse and give him a helping, understanding hand.

 

When Jesse thought back on it, it seemed as though Bora had wanted to tell him something before he had disappeared back into the lounge that night, before he had left Jesse to drink on his own. He had seen the man’s lips falter, seen the words die in his throat. The compassion had been behind the action, but after Jesse had sung, exposed the vulnerable part of himself that not even Gabriel had seen, Bora was... reluctant. Something had been hiding beneath that caused the hesitance, along with the kindness that had come beforehand.

 

Jesse recalled to the most recent terror of the fire, and how Bora was only worried for everyone but him; his eyes spoke of whatever it was that had been consuming him, and while it had been replaced with benevolence, it was still there. It had been there ever since that first night, it had been there on the very last day. 

 

It had also been there when he had singled out Moira.

 

Jesse felt his stomach twist, and his body trembled beneath the raging disturbance in his heart.

 

“Gabriel,” he said, slowly, restrained. Jesse felt his shaking hands grasp Gabriel’s wrist and move it from where it had been touching him. “What did you mean by ‘sacrifices’?

 

Beneath his fingers, Jesse felt Gabriel’s entire body stiffen; a condemning action.

 

Jesse forced his aching body to sit up straight, and though his spine and the stitches and blisters covering his back felt like agony, he refused to lay back down. It seemed as though Gabriel was the one who had been cowed instead. The man’s body lowered, eyes wide and mouth parted just enough to give away his shock. He honest to God _balked_.

 

The venom seething in Jesse’s eyes had made any other rage look like child’s play.

 

“You knew,” he hissed, “You son of a bitch! You fucking _knew_!”

 

Jesse could barely contain the absolute, monstrous fury exploding in his chest, and he couldn’t bring himself to even care if Gabriel himself had planted whatever explosive had caused the building to go up in flames, or if it had been Moira. Maybe it had been both. They’d had the opportunity to do such a heinous act when they came behind Jesse to help scout for enemies. Perhaps neither of them had actually set the explosives themselves, but it didn’t change the fact that _Gabriel fucking knew._

 

Besides, how _convenient_ was it that Victor, the only thing from preventing Moira from joining the team, had been positioned in those parts of the building? There was no way that Moira _hadn’t_  known; Bora had managed to tell him that much, to convey his warning before his death. She had planned it.

 

Blinded by rage and utter hatred, Jesse threw himself out of the bed; he paid no mind to the way his IV ripped itself out of his arm, nor did he really care about how the tape holding his oxygen tubes in place pulled and made his skin raw. He couldn’t even really hear his heart monitor violently flatlining when he tore the wires away, the blood rushing in his ears causing a purposeful deafness. His body begged him to stop, to lay back down, but even as Jesse gasped for air with his soiled, filthy lungs, he pushed through it and started to march to the door. He would kill her. He would kill Moira.

 

“Jesse! Wait, stop!” Gabriel commanded, and he had the fucking gall to grab Jesse by the arm. “Listen to me, you don’t-“

 

“No, you fucking listen to _me_.” Jesse ripped his arm away from Gabriel, paying no mind to the way he nearly stumbled to the floor from even the simplest action. “If you _ever_ fucking touch me again, I’ll make damn sure I break every single piece of you that I can reach.”

 

It was not an empty threat and they both knew it. Jesse would do it, and he wouldn’t stop fighting until either Gabriel or himself came out dead.

 

Even as he pushed past Gabriel, Jesse could hear the man barking out orders, telling him to sit, to lay back down, to come back to him and stay still. But Jesse was far from being a dog; he realized, perhaps for the first time, that he didn’t have to wear a collar and chain. This time, he refused to obey. Without so much as another vicious word, Jesse burst through the door so violently that the wall behind it become dented, and the shrieks it earned from the people around him only fueled his near primal rage.

 

“Where is she?” he yelled, but continued to push through the panicking crowd without waiting for an answer. “Fucking _tell_ _me_! Where is she?”

 

Jesse, in all of his years of both Blackwatch and Deadlock, had never been one to yell. He hardly ever raised his voice, even in anger. He didn’t even do such a thing when Gabriel had taken him in, or when he had nearly been killed in Arkansas. He didn’t even scream when he confronted his old leader and shot him dead. But now, Jesse roared like an inhuman beast, and his voice shattered the air like murderous thunder. Nobody dared to stand in his way. Nobody stopped him, though Jesse was sure they would recuperate from the shock soon, but first, he would complete his task or die trying.

 

It wasn’t long before Jesse found his quarry; the fiery hair and hellish eyes were dead giveaways, ones that caused Jesse’s blood to seethe like poison in his veins. Then, before anyone could react, he grabbed her throat, raised her up, and threw her down as harshly as he possibly could. It was hard enough to where Jesse knew it would hurt like a bitch. Still, he felt his own body quaking from the exertion, felt the way his blisters had ruptured and his stitches were popping. He felt his body tearing open and his lungs rattling so terribly it was audible. Before he could help it, Jesse was almost on his knees, body tormented by agony as his eyes went slightly out of focus. It only took him a moment to readjust. With one very clear goal in mind, it was with vicious, sadistic fury that Jesse bore his teeth in a corrupted smile.

 

“Guess you killed the wrong man, Moira,” Jesse hissed, watching with sick joy as blood spilled from her lips, her eyes widened. It was only when glaring complacency twisted her horrid features, when she pushed herself off of the floor to stand too pridefully, that Jesse’s momentary conciliation disappeared.

 

Blinding rage erupted in Jesse once more as something akin to a snarl ripped itself from his throat. The smoke that had seared his lungs caused it to become distorted, and even he was surprised at the animalistic nature of the sound. If Jesse wasn’t blinded, he would’ve laughed at the subtle flicker of _fear_ in everybody’s eyes. Still, beyond his anger he couldn’t see, and even though his body threatened to give way, he forced himself to ignore his condition. Jesse  threw himself at Moira with purposeful reckless abandon; he would kill her, even if it meant killing himself in the act.

 

Although Jesse expected to collide with flesh, he didn’t expect for the wind to be knocked out of him, or for his feet to ever leave the ground. He didn’t expect the arms that clamped around him like vices and kept him from tearing out Moira’s throat. He could hardly comprehend that he was being dragged away. Still, his wrath was yet to be diminished, and so Jesse clawed and kicked and screamed bloody murder as his captor walked faster and Moira disappeared from his sight.

 

Even as he was dragged into a hospital room with the door slamming shut  behind him, the fight never left Jesse. He raked his nails into the flesh beneath his fingers without mercy, and his teeth ripped at the clothes of whoever was holding him when his head was roughly forced down into their shoulder. It wasn’t until his eyes once again went out of focus and his chest screamed from the lack of proper oxygen that Jesse finally gave up.

 

For many, many long minutes, he rested his aching body. Jesse realized that whoever held him had settled down onto the ground (no doubt to avoid the risk of falling over during Jesse’s ardent struggle), and that small, faint droplets of blood littered the cold tile floor. He couldn’t really tell whose it was; truthfully, it probably belonged to both of them.

 

Speaking of the other...

 

It was with overwhelming guilt that Jesse realized who he had been tearing apart in his rage. He couldn’t see the face, head still forced down into the man’s shoulder, but the soft redolence of cologne and the underlying scent of musk was unmistakable. A lump formed in Jesse’s throat as he raised his hand up to the back of Jack’s neck; the claw marks, made severe by the repeated assault on the skin, were oozing blood at a lazy rate. It didn’t make Jesse feel any better.

 

“Jack... I just-“

 

Jesse didn’t know where he was even going with that sentence, and felt a vague sort of relief when Jack carded his hand through Jesse’s hair, a comforting act that brought his words to an end. It was painfully reminiscent of Gabriel’s actions from mere minutes ago. Still, Jesse refused to think about it, and chose to bury his face further into Jack’s shoulder and tighten his grip instead. He wanted- no, he _needed_ this. He needed this comfort that only Jack could supply right now, because up until that point, Jesse had been alone.

 

Perhaps... it would’ve been better that way. It would’ve been better if he’d been alone. If Jesse had never opened up his heart, never let Gabriel or anybody else burrow their way into his very core, then he wouldn’t be feeling this way. He wouldn’t be broken, wouldn’t be shattered, wouldn’t be emotionally damaged beyond all repair.

 

Perhaps it would’ve just been better if Jesse had never loved anyone at all.

 

It was in that moment, mourning his losses, refusing to shed another tear, that Jesse formed a cold, desperate vow; he swore right then and there that he would never dare to love anyone - not Gabriel, and not Jack - ever, _ever_ again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, my poor boy. I’m sorry, Jesse XD
> 
> Thank you guys for reading! Feel free to talk to me (I immensely enjoy it, because it lets me know you like it, too!)

**Author's Note:**

> How wholesome! Now prepare for the downhill slope
> 
>  
> 
> Me, going through to edit ten years later: oh GOD WHY? HOW MANY ERRORS CAN YOU MAKE!?


End file.
